


The Complete Works of Emmanuel Allen

by violue



Series: Hazelnut Valley [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Aimless Domestic Fluff, Alternate Universe, Anal Sex, Bottom Castiel, Bottom Dean, Cats, Depression, M/M, Mutual Masturbation, Oral Sex, Past Character Death, Rimming, Rural Setting, Semi-Public Sex, Top Castiel, Top Dean, Winchester Coping Mechanisms, Writer Castiel, hand stuff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-14
Updated: 2016-06-16
Packaged: 2018-06-08 08:17:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 26
Words: 56,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6846694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/violue/pseuds/violue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean Winchester, reluctant business owner, reluctant home owner, and reluctant cat owner, is striking up a very promising friendship with the author of his favorite book series.</p><p>And he has no idea.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Oh yeah, I've got notes.
> 
>  
> 
> ~~1.) This is complete, though later chapters are still being beta'd. I'll be posting a chapter at a time, whenever the hell I feel like it. Probably every day/every other day because it's hard to just SIT ON ALL THESE CHAPTERS I HAVE WHEN THEY'RE READY TO POST!!!~~
> 
>  
> 
> 2.) This is of the mostly aimless domestic fluff variety, in that there's no big overarching storyline. But that's pretty common with my stories. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ 
> 
> 3.) There's a bit of _me_ in this story. I am a depressed and surly cat owner living in the Pacific Northwest, and so is Dean, but most of this is just my imagination.
> 
> 4.) Thanks to [TENNYO](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Tennyo/works), [CHIWALKER](http://chiwalker.tumblr.com/), [CASFUCKER](http://buckysbuckhole.tumblr.com/), and [KELISAB](http://kelisab.tumblr.com) for beta'ing! If you find mistakes in the story, it's all their fault, and you should throw soggy tomatoes at them.
> 
> 5.) No, I think that's it. Start reading.

“Wow, that’s beautiful!”

Dean doesn’t even have to look up from his book to know what this customer is talking about. Winchester General Store has a lot of things; food, beer, toiletries, camping gear, used books and more, but the only thing that could be considered “beautiful” in this store is the hand-carved, ornate wooden house sitting in a display case mounted on the wall behind Dean. Actually, “house” isn’t the right word. It started as a house in Dean’s mind, but by the time he was done carving, sanding, polishing, and in some places hot gluing the white oak structure, it had become a mausoleum. A beautiful, _inviting_ mausoleum, but a mausoleum nonetheless. Dean had even borrowed some acrylic paints from Charlie to color the climbing ivy painstakingly carved onto the sides.

“Thanks, man,” Dean says, setting his book down. Might as well let the guy know this was _his_ hard work.

The man’s eyes widen. “You _made_ this?”

“Sure did. Worked on it for two months.” Dean nods toward the twelve pack of Mountain Dew the customer is holding. “You all set?”

The man puts the case on the counter by the register, and Dean rings it up. “How much?”

“Eight ninety-nine for the Dew.”

The man shakes his head. “No, I mean the sculpture. My wife and I just bought a place up in Cougar Falls, and that would look _great_ in the front room.”

Dean blinks, surprised. He’s gotten a lot of compliments on the mausoleum in the past ten or so months, but no one’s ever assumed it was for sale before.

“Sorry, man, not for sale.”

“Come on. Name your price.” Dean gets all sorts of customers here. Locals, people out in the area for camping, people up here to go rafting down Filbert River, and of course, people just passing through on their way to some place bigger and better. This guy falls into the last category.

“No can do, that thing’s got something important inside. Can’t part with it.”

“Important? Like what?”

Dean shrugs. “My parents.”

“W… what?” the man stammers.

“Yeah. There’s an urn inside. Kinda had to glue the top of the building on to get the urn in there, but you can’t really tell unless you’re real close and looking at just the right angle.”

“ _Both_ of your parents?”

“Well, my mom died ages ago, and my dad kept her ashes the rest of his life.” Dean turns to look at his carving fondly. “And when my dad died, we had him cremated too. One night I got real drunk, I was still kind of in mourning, and I decided my parents should be together. So I dumped my dad’s ashes into my mom’s urn, and then I gave the urn a good shake,” Dean says, shaking an imaginary urn. “My brother was _pissed_ when I told him, but he’s over it now. Anyway, I made this here structure to keep them in. Sort of an apology gift.”

The bell over the front door jingles, and Dean turns back to see the customer has taken off. “Don’t you want your Mountain Dew?” he yells, even though the guy’s already outside.

Jeez. What a wimp. Dean reaches into the display case, patting the top of the mausoleum gently. “What a baby. Am I right, guys?”

The urn full of Winchester ashes stays silent of course. Dean snickers, picks his book up off the counter, and gets back to reading.

  
  


 


	2. (Wednesday, September 16th 2015)

In the mountains of Western Oregon, far away from Portland, Salem, Eugene, or any other city people have actually heard of, is Hazelnut Valley, population: six hundred thirty-four, according to the most recent census. It’s a small, unincorporated community off the Oregon highway, much like the many other townships between there and real civilization. There’s Hazelnut Valley, and then the myriad of cabins, mansions, and rustic summer homes dotted along the highway and the great Filbert River.

Hazelnut Valley isn’t a valley, and doesn’t have a single hazelnut tree in the town itself, but it’s home to Dean, and has been since he was an emotional six year old that still wet the bed.

Dean barely remembers life before he first came to Hazelnut Valley, when he had two living parents and no nightmares about fire, but hey, he was young. Four when his mom died in that house fire, six when his father decided they all needed to leave Kansas in their rearview mirror.

Dean remembers the car ride over, though. He remembers sitting in the back of what was once his father’s Impala, face practically smashed against the window as the endless fields and flat expanses of Kansas eventually became the endless forests and rugged terrain of the Pacific Northwest. Everything was so _green,_ and the Kansas River back home was nothing like the swift and rocky Filbert River that runs parallel to Filbert Highway.

For years, Dean lived with his father, his little brother, and his “uncle” Bobby in Bobby’s big, empty house right in the heart of Hazelnut Valley. Then came the day that Dean’s on-again-off-again girlfriend decided she was over small town life and left for Portland, Dean at her side. Dean thought he felt the same, thought he wanted a more exciting life. He was wrong. While Bela flourished in Portland, Dean never did.

After they broke up, Dean tried out other places. Eugene. Seattle. Spokane. Denver. Albuquerque. Kansas City. For ten years Dean kept trying to find a place where he was happy, and yet the only time he really was were the times he went back to Hazelnut Valley for holidays. Dean spent a long, long time believing the sentiment “You can’t go home again”, and stubbornly stayed away.

The thing is, Dean’s father knew just how much Dean missed Hazelnut Valley, how much he wanted to come home. It was a fact Dean was unaware of until John died and left Dean… reasons to come home. Dean’s lonely and a bit reclusive now, but it’s nothing compared to how lonely he was before he came back.

It hurts knowing he’ll never get to thank his father for bringing him home.

Nowadays, Dean lives in his father’s cabin, the cabin John _died_ in. Small, but right along the riverbank and surrounded by lots and lots of trees. Quiet, save for the sporadic sounds of passing cars and the never ending rush of the river just outside. Miles from the main Hazelnut Valley township, but a pretty short walk from Winchester General Store, the business John happily sunk years of his life into, and left to Dean in his will in addition to his two bedroom cabin, his sixty-seven Chevy Impala, and four Maine Coon cats named Lamia, Okami, Rugaru, and Crocotta. Dean’s never been a cat person, has to take medication every day for his damn allergies, and John’s wild, massive cats never stop leaving small, cute, dead animals on Dean’s front porch. They came with the house though, so Dean’s a man with four cats now. Some mornings Dean wakes up with four cats in his bed, and absolutely no idea how they managed to get into the house.

Sam, of course, thinks it’s fucking hysterical.

As for Dean, he’s a little disturbed by the whole situation, the way he shucked off his life and easily stepped into John’s. Then there’s the fact that Dean hasn’t had a relationship since Ann Marie well over a year ago, hasn’t even had a hook up. It’s hard to make time to drive to the city for a one night stand when you’re the sole full-time employee in a business that’s open every god damn day.

Dean’s not unhappy, though. He’s not.

“You look unhappy.”

Dean glares at his brother from behind this month’s issue of Ruralite magazine. “No I don’t.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Don’t you have somewhere to be?” Dean grumbles.

Sam has somehow ended up with three jobs. On weekdays, Sam works at the Hazelnut Valley Library from nine to noon, then he works at Bobby’s auto repair shop usually from one to five. On Saturdays, Sam works at the MacLeod Inn, one of the few buildings within screaming distance of Dean’s store, just across the road. Right now it’s Wednesday at noon, so Sam should be grabbing his usual lunch at The Roadhouse before walking to Singer Repairs, not futzing about with one of the two twelve-cup coffee makers Dean bought for the store.

Sam shrugs as he continues with said futzing about. “I’ve got time.”

“Time to come steal my coffee?”

“Why do you look so bummed out?”

Dean sets his magazine down, glaring at Sam from his seat behind the counter. “I don’t look _bummed out_.”

“Are you lonely?”

“What? No.”

Sam sips at his cup of coffee, eyes narrowed at Dean.

“That’s two-fifty for the coffee,” Dean says.

“Add it to my tab.”

“Your _tab_?” There’s a small dresser crammed behind the counter with Dean, and he opens the top drawer to pull out a green spiral notebook, thumbing past the first few pages before reading aloud. “A box of Lucky Charms, a gallon of milk, a four-pack of toilet paper…”

“What are you—”

“A six-pack of Fat Tire Ale, a cup of coffee, a package of Oreo’s, another cup of coffee, a bag of teriyaki beef jerky, a box of Cheerios, another gallon of milk, a can of tuna, a bottle of mosquito repellent, another cup of coffee, _condoms,_ another cup of coffee, a two liter bottle of Pepsi, another cup of coffee, another cup of coffee, another cup of coffee, and, oh look, another cup of coffee.”

“ _Really,_ Dean?”

“This is a business, Sam.”

Sam angrily takes a swig of his coffee, cursing when some dribbles down his chin.

“This is just for the last two months,” Dean adds.

“ _Fine,_ ” Sam says, pulling out his wallet, “how much do I owe you?”

“Eighty-eight seventy.”

“Eighty-eight _dollars_?”

“And seventy cents.”

“Okay, well I have twenty dollars,” Sam says sadly, holding out a twenty dollar bill. Dean takes the money, punches open the register, and sticks it inside. “I can’t believe you took that. I don’t get another payday until next week. Now all I have is eight dollars!”

“Ramen’s fifty cents a pack.”

“You’re seriously going to keep my money?”

“Yep.”

“But I’m _family_.”

“Which is why I’ve only been keeping track for the past two months, as opposed to the past _eleven._ Family, Sam. Family.”

“Come on.”

“I’m going easy on you. Right, guys?” Dean says, turning to address the mausoleum.

Sam groans. “You know I hate when you do that. They’re _ashes._ ”

“Wow, that’s pretty rude, Sammy. I think you should apologize to them.”

“I’m not apologizing to ashes.”

“I’ll give you back the twenty if you apologize.”

Sam sighs, coming up to the counter to face the mausoleum. “Mom, Dad, I’m sorry for referring to you as ashes as though being a jar of ashes is something to be ashamed of. It was insensitive, please forgive me.”

Dean smirks, taking Sam’s money out of the register and handing it back. “You still owe me eighty-eight seventy.”

“You suck, you know that?”

“With today’s coffee that brings the total to ninety-one twenty.”

  
  


*

  
  


Dean’s store closes at six, like every day. He spends an hour balancing the till, updating the inventory, cleaning out the coffee makers, and locking up the building before he’s done for the day.

It’s the middle of September, and there’s only twenty or so minutes before sunset. Still plenty of time to walk home before it’s totally dark out, though.

Most days, Dean walks to and from work. It’s a maybe twenty minute walk up the highway to Swift Road, which runs parallel to the highway, then another ten or so minutes along Swift Road to the long driveway that leads to the cabin. He loves his dad’s car, but it seems silly to waste gas on such a short trip, especially when Dean will be lurking behind a counter all day. Soon, when it’s dark at five in the evening and cold as balls outside, Dean will use the car.

He takes his time walking home today, savoring the lungfuls of clean air. The cities he’s lived in have a lot to offer; cheaper groceries, fast food, and stores open twenty-four hours a day, but they also have noise, traffic jams, and nasty air on overcast days. Here, breathing in feels good. The air’s not pure, but it’s pretty damn close.

Dean doesn’t know why Sam had to go and say he looks unhappy. He’s not. He likes it here. It’s clean and quiet and the town is full of people he’s known and loved for all the post-bed-wetting years of his life, and—

Okay _maybe_ living in his father’s cabin, far away from Sam and everyone else was a bad idea, and is starting to get to him a little. Maybe he’s barely talked to anyone since he moved back. Maybe the thought of extended social interaction makes him wilt. Maybe.

Dean’s just a few minutes into his walk when he pauses. He’s at the area where the Filbert River and the Filbert Highway intersect, the wide river rushing under the concrete beneath Dean’s feet. He stands on the bridge, staring out over the river and taking in the picturesque landscape. He can see some houses along the river, peeking out along the riverbank from in between the trees. There’s a meow, and Dean looks down, surprised to see a large cat at his feet. Brown tabby markings, white feet and neck… Lamia.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Dean says. Lamia meows again, rolling onto her side right on top of Dean’s boots. Dean has no idea where the fuck these cats go when they’re not lurking around his house, but he doesn’t usually see them along the highway; they all seem to have a healthy fear of large, moving vehicles.

“Did you come here to walk me home?” Lamia rolls onto the ground on her back, exposing her belly for Dean to rub. For all that Dean’s never been a cat person, these damn cats sure seem to like the fuck out of him. He crouches, scratching at Lamia’s belly for a minute before he starts walking again, cat trotting along next to him. When he’s gone almost a mile he turns down Swift Road, which is only about a mile and a half long, curving in through the woods a ways before letting back out on the highway. There’s only four other houses along this road, all of them bigger and nicer than John’s cabin. Dean almost never interacts with his neighbors though, the houses aren’t really all that close by.

He’s halfway along the road when he reaches his mailbox, which only contains junk mail today. Some of it is addressed to John. Awesome. No matter how many times Dean leaves notes for his mailman, no matter how many calls he makes on the matter, the mail for his dead father shows up anyway.

When he gets to the front porch there are three big fucking cats sitting there, watching him. Crocotta, the silver tabby with a light grey tail, Okami, the silver tabby with a dark grey tail, and Rugaru, the brown tabby who, unlike Lamia, does not have white paws.

“Hello, ladies,” he says to the cats, “and gentleman,” he adds, nodding at Rugaru. He opens the door to the cabin and steps inside, closing it behind him before the cats can follow him. They’ll wait. He tosses his keys on the kitchen counter and starts pulling cat food cans out of the pantry. There’s a ton of cat food in there, a mix of things he stocks at his store and shit he’s ordered online. He ran out of food for them a lot in the beginning, and now he overcompensates a bit by keeping a full pantry. But at least they’re getting variety.

When he comes back out balancing four bowls of food, the cats are still waiting patiently. He can’t help but smile. He’d never admit it to anyone, but it’s nice to have someone to come home to. Even though that “someone” is four cats that once killed his neighbor’s chicken and left it on Dean’s porch. Devereaux made Dean pay a hundred dollars for that fucking thing.

“Eat up,” Dean says as the cats descend on their food, “I work hard to put cat food on the table.” Crocotta tries to shove Okami out of the way so she can get at Okami’s bowl, even though Dean brought a bowl for each of them. “Idiot,” Dean mutters, moving Crocotta to the unoccupied bowl.

He watches them eat for a while before going back inside to shower off the day.

  
  


 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Hazelnut Valley is not real, but [Ruralite Magazine](https://www.ruralite.org/) is. It comes to my house every month.)


	3. (Thursday, September 17th)

For all that Dean seems to work the store alone, he actually does have an employee. Mondays and Thursdays are the days he receives deliveries in the morning, so Gadreel comes in and helps Dean balance opening the store and receiving the shipments. Dean doesn’t know Gadreel all that well. He was already working here when John died, but he moved to Hazelnut Valley during Dean’s extended absence. They’ve chatted a little, enough that Dean knows Gadreel is unmarried and has six small jobs that he cobbles together into a decent sized income.

Today is Thursday, and for the first time Gadreel calls in sick, muttering apologies and sounding like his throat’s been scraped raw when he calls Dean at six a.m. to give him the bad news. Dean usually wakes at seven, grabs a quick shower and breakfast before heading out around seven-thirty, and spends an hour getting ready to open the store at nine. Today he’s out the door five minutes after his phone call ends, eating granola bars and carrying a flashlight because the damn sun isn’t up yet. The woods can be scary as fuck in the dark, but Dean’s way too tired to care. Apparently he really needs that additional hour of sleep.

He gets through the bulk of his opening prep before the deliveries come and manages to get the store open by its usual time, but having his morning start so abruptly and so early leaves Dean feeling off-kilter all day, like he’s forgetting something, or he’s still in a hurry. He seeks comfort in one of his favorite books, the first in the Sheriffs Hunting Evil series by his favorite author, Emmanuel Allen.

Dean’s a big fan of this series, he has all ten books chronicling the adventures of Jody Mills and Donna Hanscum, two sheriffs who leave their jobs to travel the country hunting monsters. The first book is Provenance, where Jody and Donna meet and take on a malignant spirit tethered to an old painting. He’s got his feet propped up on the counter and a bottle of Cherry Pepsi in his hand while he reads, and he’s finally starting to relax. He really, really loves the writing in this series.

“You’re an Emmanuel Allen fan?”

Dean looks up at the source of the low, rough, and enticing voice. There’s a man at the counter, wearing a black suit, a rumpled trench coat, and a sloppy blue tie. He’s… pretty, and Dean finds himself staring into the man’s blue eyes for far too long before he realizes the guy asked him a question.

“I’m sorry, what was that?”

“I… ah, I asked if you were an Emmanuel Allen fan.”

“Oh. Yeah! Big fan,” Dean says, grinning. “Are you?”

“Um… not exactly, but… one of my sisters is. She has all of his books.”

Dean nods, bringing his feet down off the counter. “Yeah, uh… most of the fans I come across are chicks. Which I think is a shame.” The man raises his eyebrows, and Dean hurries to continue. “I’m not saying having a female fanbase is bad! I just think it’s a shame that a lot of guys don’t bother with the series because the lead characters are women. I was like that too, once… but an old girlfriend of mine was really into the books, and she got _me_ into the series. They’re awesome.”

“What makes them... awesome?”

Dean shrugs. “Sometimes a story just clicks for you, you know? I love the witty bite of the narration, I love the weirdo cases in each book, and I’ve loved getting to experience Jody and Donna go from strangers, to friends, to almost sisters. Some stories just grab you and will _not_ let you go for whatever reason, I guess.”

The man smiles, something small and gentle. Dean can feel himself blushing.

“Certainly an Emmanuel Allen fan, then.”

“Yeah,” Dean says, “guilty. Got his Sheriffs Hunting Evil series, and his old sci-fi novels… even got a copy of a book of poems he put out.”

“Wow, that’s… my sister mentioned that book to me. She said it was rather rare.”

“Got it on Ebay. Kind of a Christmas gift to myself a few years back. Anyway, uh… the author’s cool. You should give your sister’s books a try if you haven’t.” It dawns on Dean that this guy must have come into the store for a reason other than listening Dean yammer on like a gushing fanboy. “Wow, look at me just yakking away. Sorry about that. What can I do for you?”

The man smiles again, and Dean wonders how such icy blue eyes can be so warm. “I came to browse for a few things, I suppose I became distracted by your book.” He gives Dean a nod, then moves on to the rest of the store. Dean feels embarrassed with how he slipped right into excited geek mode, but no one he knows is into the series other than his friend Charlie. He doesn’t really tell people he’s a fan, but Sam’s seen him reading the books since he’s in the store all the damn time. At least he didn’t spill to this stranger about how he got the anti-possession symbol from the books tattooed near his left collarbone.

The stranger browses the store for fifteen minutes before returning to the counter with a jar of crunchy peanut butter, a loaf of white bread, and a jar of boysenberry preserves that’s actually homemade and costs two dollars more than the regular stuff Dean carries.

“An eye for the good stuff, I see,” Dean says, tapping the jar. “I helped make this, you know.”

“Did you, now?”

“Okay, well I helped put it in the jars, anyway. A friend of mine made it.”

“The… Harvelle in ‘Harvelle Preserves’?” the man says, glancing at the jar.

“Ellen Harvelle, proprietor of The Roadhouse in Hazelnut Valley.” And the woman who tricked Dean into coming over to help her with her damn preserves. Not that Dean’s mad. She was only trying to get him to be social. It just didn’t really pan out.

“Oh, I drove past the road leading to the town, but didn’t go in. Is The Roadhouse a bar?”

“Bar and grill. Open from noon to midnight, Monday through Saturday, and from eleven to five on Sundays.”

The man smiles again. Dean’s already a sucker for his smiles. “Go there often?”

“Uh… used to.”

“I see… any other places of interest in the area?”

“Well, there’s the library, a school, car repair shop, clinic, post office… Tara’s shop is mostly booze and convenience store fare… there’s a guy about a mile from Hazelnut Valley that sells a bunch of bee tchotchkes and honey, and there’s a deli next to his store.”

“Bees and honey? I must have passed it on my way here, is it the bright yellow store?”

“Cain’s Curios. Yellower than the sun.”

“Well, I’m glad there are a few places for me to check out.”

“Are you, uh… camping in the area?” Dean says, shaking his head as he looks the man over. “Okay, no, probably not.”

“I’m living here. Or… vacationing here. I’m not really sure.”

“You’re not sure?”

“It’s complicated, I suppose. I’m staying at the inn across the road.”

Dean looks at the groceries. “You know, Crowley provides meals at the inn…”

“I’ve had a tiring week, and I’ve always found peanut butter and jelly sandwiches comforting. The inn’s proprietor directed me here to fulfill my craving.”

“Sounds good to me. That’ll be thirteen twenty-three for your comfort food, Mr…”

“Oh… Novak,” the man says, handing Dean a twenty.

“Mr. Novak,” Dean says, handing him his change.

The man wrinkles his nose in distaste. “Call me Castiel, please.”

“Alright, Castee…”

“Castiel.”

“Castiel. Dean Winchester.”

Castiel smiles, pocketing his change. “Enjoy your book, Dean.”

Castiel leaves the store, and Dean stares out the door for a long moment before picking his copy of Provenance back up off the counter.

  


*

  


This time, Lamia is waiting right outside the store when Dean finishes closing up. How the fuck does this cat even know where to find him? He kneels, scratching Lamia behind the ears and after indulging him a moment, Lamia starts walking in the direction of home.

Okay, then. Dean’s going to be escorted home. By a cat.

He feels a little silly, but at least Lamia darts off into the trees every time a car goes by. That will lessen the chances of someone he knows seeing him going for a walk with a big cat. Oh and the chances of her getting hit by a car, of course.

When he gets home the other cats are waiting for him, and he goes to fetch their food. He wonders if this is how John’s days went; if he got cat escorts. The store is something John bought a long time ago, but until five years back he didn’t have the nearby cabin, and until three years back he also didn’t have a bunch of cats. The story he told Dean over one Christmas was that a customer came into the store looking to unload the litter of Maine Coon barn cats, and John took them in. The story _Sam_ told Dean however, was that John went on Craigslist, found someone in Springfield with a litter of young barn cats, then ended up taking them all home. Dean’s inclined to believe Sam’s version, but it doesn’t really matter either way. The point is, the cats are under his care, and apparently one of them thinks Dean can't be trusted to walk home on his own.

Whatever. It's nice to have the company.

 


	4. (Friday, September 18th)

“How long are you going to keep this up?”

Dean pauses in refilling the coffee maker, turning to look at Sam. “You mean having you show up to mother hen me during your lunch break?”

“You’re here all day, _every day_.”

“And?”

“You haven’t taken a day off since Christmas.”

“ _And?_ ”

“It’s September. That’s a really, really long time to go without a day off, Dean!”

“So? Dad worked every day,” Dean says, shrugging.

“Dad worked every day… you mean the guy that lived up here for twenty-seven years and had maybe two friends? The guy that died of a heart attack at _fifty-six._ Is _that_ the guy you’re talking about?”

“The guy also smoked and drank heavily, you know. I’m pretty sure working every day and having no social life was less of a factor.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Well, neither do you.”

“No one gets to see you unless they come to the store,” Sam says sadly.

“And?”

“ _Hire someone,_ Dean! Get a weekend guy.”

“For what? So I can sit in Dad’s cabin all day?”

“So you can hang out with your friends and your family!”

“Since when do I have friends?”

“Come on. Jo, Charlie, Benny, Ash… _me._ You know, the people that show up and buy coffee from you just so we can have a conversation.”

“I think we established yesterday that you _haven’t_ been paying for your coffee,” Dean grumbles, glaring at the coffee maker.

“Dean. This isn’t what Dad wanted when he left you the store.”

“How do you know?”

“I just do, okay? Why are you so hell bent on sinking all your days into this damn place?”

Dean moves back behind the counter. “I like it here, Sammy.”

“Yeah, I don’t doubt it. But you know what I think?”

“No, and I don’t c—”

“I think you spent ten years only coming back once or twice a year, and now that you’re here to live again you don’t know how to connect with anyone in town. So you spend all your time here.”

Dean slams both hands down on the counter, and Sam jumps in surprise. “ _Out,_ Sam.”

Sam glares and storms out of the store, angrily snatching a large bag of trail mix on his way out. Dean sighs, grabbing his notebook out of the little dresser so he can add the trail mix to Sam’s tab.

  
  


*

  
  


Dean’s left feeling surly all afternoon. He barely talks to his customers, and right now he’s wishing he were at home eating string cheese in his underwear. That sounds nice. Maybe he _should_ hire someone, then he can just eat string cheese all day.

Dean doesn’t hate coming in every day, but he does hate how his days have all melded into one. He wakes up, goes to the store, comes home, feeds his cadre of cats, feeds himself, and often he’s asleep by nine. He has John’s TV, he has a laptop, he has a wood carving kit… none of it gets used these days. At least he has plenty of time to kick back behind the counter and read, though. Today he’s reading the second Sheriffs Hunting Evil book; Everybody Loves a Clown. Dean had decided that since he reread the first book, he may as well do the whole series. It happens a lot, he fucking loves the series. In this book, Jody and Donna end up facing off against an evil clown that’s actually a monster called a rakshasa. Sam once saw Dean reading it and had to leave the room when he noticed the scary clown on the cover.

“Ah, another Emmanuel Allen novel today.”

Dean looks up at Castiel, smiling. “What can I say? I like what I like.”

“Can’t fault that.”

Dean looks Castiel over, takes in the rumpled coat, the black suit, the blue tie… “Are you wearing the same clothes as yesterday?”

Castiel frowns, looking down at himself. “I’m afraid so. It’s all I have at the moment. I ordered some clothes online, but it will be a few days before they arrive.”

“How do you only have one outfit?”

“That’s um… I left my life behind. Most of my belongings…” Castiel fidgets with the sleeve of his coat.

“You on the run from the law?”

Castiel rolls his eyes. “Hardly. I was just unhappy, and I realized that I had the power to change that. So I did.”

“And you couldn’t bring clothes?”

“I was trying to leave behind anything that didn’t have sentimental value.”

“How’d that pan out?”

“It seemed like a good idea at the time. But now that I’ve been wearing this suit for four days…”

Dean grins. “You come here for some air freshener then?”

Castiel turns his head to sniff at himself. “I came for dental floss, actually.”

“You know… Springfield and Eugene are less than two hours away, maybe you should go clothes shopping instead of wearing that for another chunk of days.”

“The website said delivery would be Monday or Tuesday. I can wait three or four days, I’m really not in the mood to go into a city right now.”

“Social anxiety?”

“I suppose. I just came from a very large city.” Castiel drifts over toward the section with toiletries, coming back a minute later with dental floss, a toothbrush, and mouthwash. “These are better than the travel-size products I brought with me.”

Dean rings the items up. “Eight forty-nine for your clean mouth.” Castiel slides a ten dollar bill over to Dean, then pockets the change he receives. “Need a bag?”

“No, it’s fine,” Castiel says. He stuffs his purchases into the pockets of his coat. Dean smiles as Castiel stands there, bottle of mouthwash sticking out of his left coat pocket. This guy is kind of a weird mess. That’s cool, though. Dean’s a fan of weird and messy. Dean can relate to weird and messy.

“I’m gonna lend you some clothes,” Dean says.

Castiel looks surprised. “I… no, you don’t need to do that. I’m mostly just in my room at the inn, and I don’t need clothes for that.”

No clothes? Does this guy sleep naked, then? Great, now Dean’s wondering what he looks like naked. The suit and coat are on the bulky side, but Castiel’s neck and wrists are fairly slender. Who knows what this guy looks like underneath the layers.

Does he spend his days eating peanut butter and jelly sandwiches in the nude?

“Uh…” Dean shakes his head, trying to clear his mind. “I insist. At least let me lend you a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt or something, man.”

“You don’t even know me.”

“Small town people are friendly like that,” Dean says, even though Sam is consistently telling him that he is in fact _not_ friendly these days. “Come back at seven, we’ll go to my place.”

Castiel looks like he’s about to refuse, then he sighs, shoulders slumping slightly. “Seven. Okay, I’ll be here.”

  
  


 


	5. (Still Friday, September 18th)

Dean’s not sure why he made that offer. He almost never has anyone over at the cabin. He feels oddly excited, though. It feels nice to break up the routine just a little.

The rest of the day goes like normal. Dean rings up customers for their various purchases, gives directions to confused travelers, and reads his book. At six, he flips the sign on the door from “OPEN” to “CLOSED” and switches off the neon sign in the window. He balances the till, cleans out the coffee makers, runs a broom through the aisles, and all the other little things he spends an hour doing every night after closing the store.

When he comes outside at seven, Castiel is seated on one of the benches John built over a decade ago for the front of the store, under the glow of the lone street light. He’s petting Lamia, who’s curled up in his lap.

“Look at you,” Dean says, “making friends already.”

Castiel gives Lamia a scratch behind her ears, then sets her on the bench so he can stand. “It showed up shortly after I did. There’s no collar, do you suppose she’s a stray?”

“No, uh… she keeps losing collars… she’s microchipped though. She’s been showing up to walk me home this week, not sure why.”

“This is… your cat?”

“Yep. Her name’s Lamia. Kind of inherited her… and three others.”

“She seems large for a cat.”

“Pretty cool, huh? Maine Coon cats are big. Loyal, too.” Lamia starts walking, and Dean and Castiel follow. “She and her littermates are pretty afraid of cars, though, so I’m not sure what she’ll do in a few weeks when I start driving to work.”

“Interesting,” Castiel says. “I wouldn’t have guessed you’d be a cat person.”

“I’m not. Well… I wasn’t. They were my dad’s. So was the store. And the cabin we’re walking to. And my car.”

“Oh dear, did he…”

“Yeah… ‘bout a year ago.”

“That’s terrible, Dean. Do you have any other family?”

“I do… a brother. He lives in Hazelnut Valley. You might see him tomorrow, he comes to the inn on Saturdays to do maintenance stuff. Big, tall guy with floppy brown hair, can’t miss him.”

Castiel nods, and they walk in silence for a minute or two before he speaks again. “So, what did you do before you inherited a country store?”

“Oh, lots of things.” Dean has this weird urge to hold Castiel’s hand. He ignores it. “Worked in construction, worked at a Starbucks, I was a receptionist, a janitor, a mechanic, a birthday clown… worked at a call center. I moved around a lot in my twenties.”

“A _birthday clown_? You mean you put on the large shoes and the red nose…”

“And the face paint, and the bright fuzzy wig… yep,” Dean says, nodding. “I was a clown. I made great balloon animals.”

“I would _love_ to see pictures.”

Dean snorts. “So would a lot of people.”

“Is that a no?”

Dean reaches over and pats Castiel on the shoulder. “That’s a ‘hell no’.” Castiel lets out a soft chuckle, and Dean smiles. “And what did _you_ do for a living?”

“Oh, my job isn’t… _wasn’t_ at all interesting.”

“Fair’s fair, Cas.”

“My family has a business in California… a large civil engineering firm.”

“Oh, that’s pretty—”

“I was their human resources manager.”

“Oh.”

“I’m not bad with people, but I’m also not particularly _good_ with people either… it was a bad fit, but it was what I was told to do, so I did it.”

Dean doesn’t know Castiel at all, but he knows profound bitterness where he hears it. “But not anymore.”

“No… not anymore.”

They walk in silence for the rest of the way. Every so often Dean will glance at Castiel, see him taking in the surroundings with a small, curious smile on his face. If it makes his heart skip a beat a few times, well… no one has to know. They walk at a leisurely pace, and by the time they reach the drive leading to the cabin, the sun has gone down. Lamia darts ahead as they approach the house, running to join her brother and sisters on the porch.

“I’d show you around the property,” Dean says, “but there’s not really much daylight left. Another time, though.”

Castiel turns to look at Dean, smiling timidly in the fading light. “Another time?”

“Well… I mean you’re here… don’t really know what your plans are.”

“I’m not quite sure either.”

One of the cats lets out a long, whiny yowl, and Dean rolls his eyes. “But first...”

Dean goes inside, and Castiel stays on the porch to commune with the cats or something. The cats of course abandon him the instant Dean comes back out with their food. “Don’t take it personally,” he says, setting the bowls down.

“I will harden my heart in the face of their cruel rejection.”

Dean chuckles. “Come on, let’s find you something to wear for the weekend.”

“It’s very generous of you to offer.”

“No big deal,” Dean says, leading Castiel inside.

“Isn’t it? I’m a stranger, after all. I could even be dangerous.”

Dean smirks, looking Castiel over. “If I can survive a bar brawl against five other men, I think I can take you.”

“ _Five_ men? Surely you’re exaggerating.”

“Nope. Five men. They were all drunk as hell though, so I had finesse on my side.” Castiel cocks an eyebrow, and Dean can’t tell if his expression is one of intrigue, or if he’s just profoundly unimpressed. “What can I say, I was rambunctious in my younger years. Anyway… this is it,” he says, spreading his arms out briefly before dropping them to his side.

Castiel looks around, and Dean watches him take in the living room. Dean knows it’s probably not much to look at compared to wherever this guy used to live, not if he was working in some fancy schmancy engineering firm, but Dean likes it.

The walls, flooring, and ceiling are all mahogany stained pine, and John used a similar stain on the pine coffee table, couch frame, chairs, and other furniture in the room. There are deep, forest green curtains and cushions on the couch, a mossy area rug between the couch and the TV, and framed photos of trees on the wall. This is a theme that appears in the other rooms as well. Rich colored woods, green fabrics, gorgeous tree photos. No one was more surprised than Dean that John had an actual sense of aesthetics, but the man did, and Dean loves the look of the house. The only thing he’s really changed since moving in is swapping the furniture in the study with the bedroom, and throwing out John’s old bed. Dean had no intentions of sleeping in the room or the bed his father died in.

While Dean is mentally patting his dead father on the back for his interior design skills, Castiel takes it upon himself to peek in the other rooms, a pleased smile on his face.

“I really like the colors in this house,” Castiel says. “Did you decorate it?”

“Nah. My dad moved in and he loved the color of the wood so much he wanted all the furniture to match. Chairs, tables, bookshelves… he made a lot of it himself, too. I have no idea how he made so much fucking furniture while working every day at the store.”

Castiel nods, running a hand over one of the smoothed knots on the wall paneling. “This is sort of what I pictured MacLeod’s Inn looking like when I checked in. Have you ever been inside the inn?”

“When I was a kid, back when Crowley’s scary-ass mom still ran the place. Don’t really remember the interior, though.”

“It’s nice, but… a bit on the ornate side. Not as comforting as this at all. What a wonderful space, you must feel so at peace here with the earthy colors and the constant white noise of the river outside…” Castiel lets out this soft, dreamy sigh that has Dean’s dick twitching in his jeans.

“Well, I’m at the store most of the time, so I don’t get to enjoy it all that much right now.”

“That’s too bad.”

Dean shrugs. “Still good to have a home. So, uh… clothes. Let me see what’s clean, okay? Have a seat, or uh… wander about.”

Dean goes to his room to start picking through his clothes. He has plenty of clean clothes at the moment, which is good. There’s no washer or dryer here, but every other Friday Dean leaves detergent and a hamper full of laundry on his porch, and Charlie swings by while he’s at work, takes the hamper to her house, and by the time Dean’s home, he has a hamper full of clean clothing waiting for him. In exchange, Charlie gets a thirty dollar credit at the store every month. It’s an arrangement that Dean’s father had going with Charlie for years before he died, and since Dean has always hated doing laundry he decided to keep it going.

He picks things he won’t miss if he never gets them back; a pair of black drawstring track pants, a couple of plain, worn t-shirts, a pair of army-green cargo pants, a pair of hot pink socks Sam bought him as a joke, and some ratty old brown work boots. When he comes out of his room he sees Castiel in the “study” across the hall. It’s a study and all, there’s a desk, full bookshelves, and a few boxes of John’s stuff in the closet… Dean just never uses it, aside from when he was carving the mausoleum for his parents.

Castiel is by one of the bookshelves, thumbing through Dean’s book of Emmanuel Allen poetry. “This is signed,” he says, sounding curious.

“Oh… uh, yeah. Not to me though. The girl I got it from on Ebay, she won it in some online contest with the publishing company. She sold it because she needed money for Comic-Con.”

“How much did you pay for this?”

“Uh…” Dean sets the clothes down on the desk. “By the time bidding was over, the price had gone up to three hundred dollars…”

“You paid three hundred dollars for this?”

“Uh, yeah. But if anyone asks, I found it for twenty bucks at a bookstore in Portland.”

“That’s… quite a bit of money for a book of poems.” Castiel is _blushing,_ which is just bizarre. Shouldn’t Dean be the embarrassed one here? “You’re passionate, aren’t you.”

“What? No. I’m just… a fanboy or some shit. This guy, though,” Dean says, tapping the book in Castiel’s hands, “I’d call him passionate. I’m not sure what I was expecting, but the poems were… they were cool. I can’t write poems or songs or whatever, so the fact that he can write books _and_ thoughtful poetry… pretty cool.” Dean scratches the back of his head, suddenly feeling exposed. “Um, anyway… so, here’s some clothes. Not sure with that big coat on, but I think we’re about the same size.”

Castiel shuffles over to the desk, checking the sizes on the shoes and pants, nodding in approval. He spots the pink socks and holds them up, eyebrows raised.

“You feel free to keep those socks,” Dean says.

“Mhm. Well, thank you for this, Dean. I’m so very tired of this suit.”

“If you want, we can burn the whole thing.”

“That won’t be necessary.”

“Do you need a coat, too?”

Castiel shakes his head, briefly wrapping his arms around himself. “I _like_ this coat. And I have one coming.”

“It’s very uh… what’s the word?”

“Fetching?”

“No, bulky.”

Castiel glares. “You’re a bit rude, aren’t you?”

“Fine, fine. It’s a gorgeous, sexy coat. I’m hard just looking at it.”

“You’re a bit _crass,_ aren’t you?”

Dean smirks. “Well, you got me there,” he says, patting Castiel on the shoulder. “Come on, I’ll give you a ride back to the inn. These woods tend to freak out the newbies at night.”

“I won’t argue with that. The absence of light at night will take some getting used to. I’ve lived in a city my whole life, I’m used to lights everywhere, sirens at all hours, car horns, people arguing, things like that. Out here there are sounds, but it’s so different.” Castiel is holding Dean’s offerings in his arms as he heads out to the front room, Dean trailing behind him.

“Is it good-different? Do you like it?”

“Oh yes, very much. In fact I like it here even better than the inn. I can’t hear the river from inside the inn like I can here. This is the best kind of white noise.”

“It took me a while to get used to it, honestly. I lived out here until my twenties, and my old house wasn’t by the river. Then I lived in bigger places with all the city noises for years. But now at night there’s just… the river. That soft rushing sound. It used to distract me, but now I feel like it helps me sleep.” Dean flicks on the porch light as he opens the front door. The cats are gone when they step outside, their bowls completely empty. There’s almost no natural light left, but Dean easily finds his way to his car.

The ride is fairly quiet, Castiel stares out the window with interest, which makes Dean smile.

“Well,” he says, pulling up to the inn, “here we are. MacLeod’s Inn, home of… uh… well, Crowley, I guess. How are you getting along with him?”

“Crowley is very… particular.”

Dean smirks. “That’s the nicest thing I’ve heard anyone say about him in ages. He makes a beef stew that’ll curl your toes, though. Sam brought me some a few weeks ago, _delicious._ Crowley usually makes it on Saturdays, so don’t fill up on peanut butter and jelly tomorrow.”

“I will try to resist,” Castiel says, “but the Harvelle Preserves are very good.”

“Well if you’re not gonna eat it, at least give _me_ the stew. It’s so… hearty, and I don’t know what herbs he uses, but…” Dean slaps the steering wheel. “ _Damn,_ it’s good shit.”

“And here you thought you weren’t passionate,” Castiel says, opening the car door. “Thank you for the clothes, Dean. I’m so glad I can change out of this suit.”

“Sure, man. Keep em’ as long as you need.”

Castiel closes the door, heading up the warmly lit path leading to the inn from the parking lot. He turns to look back at the Impala, and if Dean’s heart skips a beat, well that’s between him and his car.

  


 


	6. (Saturday, September 19th)

On Saturday, Dean feels antsy, like he needs to go somewhere, or do something other than sit around in the damn store. This is all Sam’s fucking fault. He made Dean feel unsettled with his life. He was fine before. He was _fine._

Yeah, Dean’s full of shit.

He can’t settle enough to sit and read, so instead Dean is on his feet all day, cleaning things that are already clean, rearranging some of his inventory, and hovering around customers. The feeling of disquiet clings to him like a thick sheen of sweat, making him feel uncomfortable and restless the entire day, and even the idea of going home isn’t providing him with much relief.

A little after five, the bell over the door jingles while Dean’s rearranging his chip selection by color, and he heads to the front of the store. The first thing he sees is a medium-sized ceramic bowl on the front counter. It’s sitting on a plate, and there’s another plate covering the contents. Then there’s Castiel, standing with his hands in the pockets of his trench coat. He’s wearing some of the clothes Dean lent him: the green cargo pants, a faded black t-shirt, and the battered brown work boots. Dean wonders if Castiel is wearing the pink socks, too.

“Hey, everything fits!” Dean says by way of a greeting.

“Yes,” Castiel says, “though the pants are kind of big, and I don’t have a belt…” He lifts the shirt up slightly, and at first Dean is distracted by the _incredibly_ appealing flash of tan hipbone he gets an eyeful of, then his eyes travel down a few inches and he smirks. Castiel put his tie through the belt loops of the pants and tied it.

“Yeah, uh. They’re kinda big. S’ why I don’t wear them. Everything comfortable?”

Castiel lowers the shirt. “Mostly, although this is my first time being out in public with no underwear on. It’s disconcerting.”

Jesus Christ, did this guy really just say he has no underwear on? “You’re uh… not um…”

“I hand washed them, they’re still drying in my room.” Castiel suddenly looks startled, blinking slowly. “I apologize, it occurs to me that perhaps my underwear is not appropriate conversation. I do that sometimes.”

“No problem,” Dean says, voice just a little higher than normal.

Castiel clears his throat, looking awkward. “Um… anyway, I uh… brought you something,” he says, tapping the bowl with one finger. Fuck, he has nice hands.

“Really?” Dean says, smiling at the bowl. Castiel lifts the top plate, and inside the bowl is a very generous portion of Crowley’s beef stew, still piping hot. “You… you brought me stew?”

“It’s a um… a thank you. You should eat it now, though. I didn’t ask Mr. MacLeod if it was alright to leave with his dishes.”

“You didn’t tell him?”

“I was concerned he might say no.”

“You little rebel.” Dean leans over the bowl, inhaling the scent of beef and spices. “ _Fuck,_ it smells even better than I remembered.”

Castiel reaches into his coat pocket, producing a large spoon. “You’ll be needing this.”

Dean takes the spoon, situating himself behind the counter so he can sit in his chair. “You sure you don’t want this?”

Castiel smiles. “I already had an entire bowl before I left.”

“Atta boy.” Dean tucks into the bowl of stew, moaning happily at the flavors as Castiel starts browsing the store. He can’t believe this guy… this hot guy in _Dean’s clothes_ with no damn underwear on… came and brought him fucking stew. Just waltzed out of the inn and walked across the highway carrying it, probably. It tastes so wonderful, too. Dean’s a fair cook, and loves baking, but he’s never in the mood to cook after a long day at the store, especially when he’s the only one that will be eating the results. Most of his meals come from the microwave these days.

From his spot at the counter Dean can see Castiel at the other end of the store, browsing the small selection of used books Dean has on a bookshelf. It’s mostly worn novels that people bring in. Dean buys them for two bucks, sells them for four, and usually doesn’t buy any if the moderately-sized shelf is full. It’s something John started doing a few years back, after a suggestion from Sam. Right now, the shelf is mostly full of westerns that Ellen brought in, but people are buying them at a decent rate.

It doesn’t take long for Dean to eat the stew. Within a few minutes he’s dropping his spoon into an empty bowl, sighing in a brief moment of contentment. Castiel looks up at the sound, and comes back to the counter.

“That was… expedient,” he says.

“Haven’t had any home cooked… or _inn-_ cooked food in ages... I couldn’t help myself.”

“It _was_ quite tasty.”

“Shit, now I’m ready for a nap.” Dean glances at the clock behind him. “Too bad the store is open another thirty-four minutes. Then I gotta close up… then walk home… feed my litter of giant cats… go to sleep… come back again…” Dean sighs, feeling deflated.

“Are you here every day?”

“We’re closed on Thanksgiving and Christmas.”

“So, that’s a yes.”

“Yeah.”

“How long have you been working here?”

“I started in October.”

“Wow, so that’s eleven months with only two days off? Dean, have you considered hiring another person? Someone for the weekends, perhaps?”

Dean groans, dropping his face into his hands. “You sound like my brother.”

“Ah… I believe he was the polite young man that fixed my broken door knob this afternoon.”

“Yeah, Sammy’s handy.”

“So, he wants you to hire someone?”

“He might have suggested it.”

“But you don’t want to.”

“Not really.”

“Can the store not afford it?”

“No, it can… I mean I’d definitely have less profit, but…”

“Well why don’t you want to hire someone, then?”

“I just don’t.”

“There has to be more to it than that, Dean.”

“We _just_ met, you know.”

Castiel rolls his eyes. “Yes.”

“I don’t have to talk about this with you.”

“Obviously. But I thought—”

Dean glares. “It’s none of your _fucking_ business, Castiel,” he hisses.

Castiel looks startled, then sad. He scoops up the dishes from the counter, avoiding eye contact with Dean. “You’re right. I apologize for overstepping.”

Dean sighs. “Cas…”

“I should return these dishes before Crowley notices there are some missing. Have a good night, Dean.”

“ _Cas._ ”

Castiel all but flees from the store, and the jingle of the bell over the door has never sounded so fucking sad.

  
  


*

  
  


Dean closes half an hour early. He feels like an asshole, and he’s pretty sure his parents’ ashes are judging him pretty hard right now. He just wants to fucking leave. He blows through his usual closing routine, skipping over anything nonessential, and he’s out of the store fifteen minutes after the normal closing time. Lamia’s not there this time, so Dean walks home quickly. He’s still a little surprised when he gets home and the cats aren’t there. Do they have his schedule memorized, and a little alarm clock somewhere so they’re sure to be here when he shows up around seven-thirty, or what?

Instead of going into his house, Dean walks to his car and gets inside. He sighs, guilt seeping in now that he’s finally stopped moving.

He’s such a fucking _dick._ To Sam, and to Castiel, who barely knows Dean and still brought him something just to be nice. And how did Dean thank him? By biting the guy’s damn head off over an innocent question. Fuck, Dean sucks. He starts the Impala up, pulls out onto Swift Road, and heads toward Hazelnut Valley.

  
  


*

  
  


Tara’s Liquor has some of the same inventory Dean’s store does; snacks, beer, convenience store fare, and one thing Dean’s store doesn’t: Hard liquor. He browses the shelves, looking for just the right drink to soothe the creeping, ugly guilt he feels.

“You look surly, chief.”

Dean turns, glaring. It’s Benny Lafitte, who works at the ranger station thirty miles up the highway. He’s also the person Dean lost his virginity to, but that was eons ago. Before Bela, before Dean left.

“Can it, Benny.”

“Don’t see you over here much.”

“Is this you canning it?”

Benny cocks an unimpressed eyebrow. “Your years living among city folk have made you _rude,_ brother.”

Dean hangs his head slightly. “I’m having a bad day.”

“Yeah, no shit.”

“Don’t sass me, Lafitte.”

“You started it.”

Dean fiddles with the rather large bottle of Jack Daniel’s in his hand. “Yeah, I’m sorry, Benny. I’m just… I’m gonna grab this and head out.” After a moment’s pause Dean grabs a second bottle.

“You wanna talk about it?”

God, yes. “Nah, I probably just need some sleep or whatever.”

“Well, if you change your mind…”

“Yeah, thanks Benny.”

Dean pays for his whiskey and heads out.

By the time he gets home, feeds the cats, and has a few fingers of whiskey, Dean feels even worse. People just want to talk to him, to be _there_ for him, and he pushes them all away. When did he get like this? He spent so long wishing he had someone to turn to, and now he _does_ , and he can’t even accept what’s being offered to him. Dean’s father was like this too. He had a stubborn streak a mile wide, pushed a lot of people away in his life.

Maybe being a dick is just another thing Dean inherited.

 


	7. (Monday, September 28th)

The next week passes in a blur. A slow, monotonous blur where the days just drag and drag, and the only real bright spots are the moments when Dean leaves the store after work and finds Lamia waiting to walk him home.

On Tuesday, Dean notices a UPS truck at the inn; probably delivering Castiel’s clothes. Part of him hopes that means Castiel will come by to return the clothes he borrowed. It’s not that Dean wants them back, but… then Castiel would at least be here. Maybe Dean could apologize. But Castiel doesn’t come, and Dean doesn’t blame him.

His mood only gets worse as the week progresses, and by Thursday Sam has given up on coming by to talk and steal Dean’s coffee. Dean knows he has no one to blame but himself for the aching guilt and loneliness he’s feeling.

On Monday, he doesn’t want to get out of bed at all, but it’s a delivery day. He has to be there. He opens the store with Gadreel’s added help like always, but by ten Gadreel is long gone, and Dean is just… done. He’s done standing behind the counter, he’s done trying to smile at customers, he’s done with the urn containing his parents lurking behind him. He’s just… done. He spends maybe twenty minutes doing closing things that _must_ be done, and then he flips the open sign over, unplugs the neon sign in the window, locks up, and leaves.

Lamia’s not there of course, since Dean’s about nine hours early, so he walks home alone, changes into his favorite pair of green flannel pajamas, grabs the mostly full whiskey bottle off his counter, and crawls into bed.

 

 

*

 

 

At about noon, he gets a text.

 **SAM - 09/28 - 12:14pm:** I take it you want to be left alone today.

 **DEAN - 9/28 - 12:16pm:** yeah sorry

 **SAM - 9/28 - 12:17pm:** It’s okay. Bobby let me have the day off to “reflect”, so I’m going to the mall with Madison.

 **DEAN - 9/28 - 12:19pm:** is it a date

 **SAM - 9/28 - 12:23pm:** Kind of. That's messed up, huh.

 **DEAN - 9/28 - 12:24pm:** nah

 **DEAN - 9/28 - 12:25pm:** better than sitting in bed being sad over the day like me

 **SAM - 9/28 - 12:30pm:** Well since I’m driving all the way to Springfield, is there anything you need?

 **DEAN - 9/28 - 12:31pm:** more whiskey

 **SAM - 9/28 - 12:33pm:** I don’t think so.

 **DEAN - 9/28 - 12:34pm:** FINE be that way

 **SAM - 9/28 - 12:39pm:** Love you, Dean.

 **DEAN - 9/28 - 12:40pm:** gross

 **DEAN - 9/28 - 12:43pm:** love you too sammy

  
  


*

  
  


At about two, Dean hears a knock at his front door. He groans, untangling himself from the nest of blankets he’d settled into and making his way to the door after stashing his whiskey under his bed.

He’s pretty surprised to see Castiel standing on his porch, looking timid and uncomfortable. He’s wearing the ratty brown boots Dean lent him, but the jeans and the black peacoat he’s wrapped in look new. Fuck, Dean forgot just how _hot_ he was in the past few days. He’s kind of wishing he hadn’t changed into pajamas when he got home, he probably looks pitiful.

“Hey, Cas.”

“Are you sick?”

“No, not really.” Dean pulls the door open wider, motioning for Castiel to come inside. He walks into the living room and sits on the couch, not surprised when Castiel elects to remain standing.

“I heard Mr. MacLeod telling his son that your store was closed, and how unusual that was. So I came to… to…” Castiel sighs. “I was worried.”

“But you barely know me.”

“Yes, I believe you made that clear during our last encounter,” Castiel says, somewhat bitterly.

Dean hangs his head, ashamed. “If it makes you feel any better, I was an asshole to everyone else, too.”

“I see.”

“I’m sorry, Cas.” Ugh, Dean needs to get it together. He feels like he’s seconds from bursting into tears or some shit. It’s probably showing on his face though, because Castiel sits on the coffee table across from him, reaching out to take the hands wringing in Dean’s lap.

“Please talk to me.” Castiel’s hands are a little cold from the walk over, and Dean feels slightly grounded by the sensation.

“I was always pretty happy here when I was younger. Lost my mom when I was four, and I liked how close people were in small towns, felt like I had a real big family instead of just me, Sam, and my dad. When I was young, I thought I’d live out here my whole life. But then I turned twenty-two, and my girlfriend decided she was done with small town life. Bela’s… she’s on the snobby side, I guess. Always had high class tastes because her family lived in upstate New York before her dad had a mid-life crisis and brought them here.”

“All the way from New York?”

“Well, you came all the way from LA.”

“True. Continue.”

“So, Bela’d had enough of good ol’ Hazelnut Valley, and she said I should come with her, that we’d be happy in Portland where we could go to clubs and meet new people and all that shit. I told myself she was right, that I wanted _more…_ so I left. My dad was pretty pissed, said I’d regret chasing some girl into a life I wasn’t suited to. I told him he was wrong, that I’d do great, I’d be happy. My brother was supportive, but… he felt bad for Dad, and decided not to go away to college when I _know_ he’d been planning to. He barely even got along with our dad but here he was sticking around so my dad would have family around.”

“Dean, people make mistakes.”

“We sure do. And it was such a fucking mistake. Cities are cool to visit, but… they’re so _loud,_ and there are so many smells, and people, and _crime,_ and I didn’t know anyone in Portland but Bela. She outgrew me real quick, too. Made lots of fun, exciting friends, partied, lived it up. Then came home to the shoebox apartment where her uncultured, uneducated hick of a boyfriend was waiting.”

Castiel’s hands grow warm the longer he holds onto Dean’s, and Dean relaxes at the soothing circles being rubbed into his palms with Castiel’s thumbs.

“It took maybe four months for her to ditch me for someone more interesting.”

“I think you’re plenty interesting.”

“Sweet talker.”

Castiel smiles gently. “Keep going.”

“Okay, so of course with Bela gone, all I wanted was to go home and forget I’d ever left. I called my dad, and I told him Bela dumped me, and the fucker had to go and say ‘Ready to come crawling back then, Dean-o?’”

Castiel winces. His thumbs start rubbing gently at the insides of Dean’s wrists.

“As much as I wanted to go home… I just couldn’t. I had _pride_ or what the fuck ever. So I stayed in Portland for a few more months, then moved to Eugene, then Seattle, Spokane, Denver, Albuquerque, Kansas City… bunch of other places. For ten years I moved around, not making any lasting friendships, too stubborn and prideful to go home for anything other than holiday visits and a couple funerals. Every time I thought about coming home for good, I’d think about that smug, mocking tone in that phone call. Eventually it started to feel like I’d just been away too long to move back home.”

“But then your father died.”

Dean nods. “But then my dad died. I was living out in Tacoma when I got the call. My brother had noticed the store was closed in the middle of the day, and Dad wasn’t answering his phone. Sammy had a bad feeling, so he came over here, found Dad. And I wasn’t here. Because of ten years of stupid fucking pride.”

“Oh, Dean.”

“That was a year ago today. I hadn’t seen him in about nine months at that point, hadn’t talked to him in two. I was pretty damn surprised when I came here and found out he left all his big assets to _me,_ the son that ran off. But I realized why… it was him giving me an opening to come home if I wanted. A place to live, a job, the car I always loved… he wanted me to have a reason to come back if I wanted, so I did.”

Dean sighs, staring at Castiel’s hands.

“After ten years of only coming by for visits, ten years of having no close friends, I just don’t know how to connect with the people I used to be close with. It’s not them, though… everyone tried real hard to welcome me back. But I’m all messed up inside. I can chat with them when they come by the store, but I keep turning them down when someone invites me to a party, or over for dinner, and no one but Sam and the woman that does my laundry come here, because I never have anyone over.”

Castiel bends forward and kisses both of Dean’s wrists. It’s intimate, _familiar._ It’s comforting.

“I’m tired of being at the store every day, but… my dad did it this way, and I keep thinking I should too.”

Castiel shakes his head. “Dean, that’s—”

“Stupid?”

“I was going to say irrational.”

“It’s not just that. I’m scared if I have free days every week… I’ll be even lonelier. I’m still shit at talking to people, what if it’s just me sitting around in my underwear getting drunk every day?”

“I don’t think you’ll know unless you try. You can’t keep going on like this. A person needs leisure time.”

“S’ not like the store is a constant rush of activity. I have leisure time.”

“It’s not the same.”

“Yeah… it’s just that… I mean my dad was content being there every day, why can’t I be?”

“Two things. One, are you _sure_ he was content?”

“Well, he seemed…”

“And two, has it occurred to you that you are _not_ your father, and what pleases him won’t necessarily please you?”

“Yeah, but…”

Castiel reaches out, gently carding his fingers through Dean’s hair. Dean closes his eyes, leaning into the touch. “But nothing,” he says softly. “You’ve spent so much of your life miserable because you were too stubborn to go after what you want. I know what that’s like, Dean, how it eats at you every day and leaves a hole inside of you. It’s time to stop. You’ve suffered enough.”

Someone is crying, and Dean’s horrified when he realizes it’s _him,_ crying in front of this man he’s met all of a few times. Dean’s bent forward, sobbing while the fingers in his hair keep up their petting motion.

“Why are you,” Dean mumbles, “we’re not—”

“I care.”

“Why?”

“Does it matter?”

“I don’t deserve—”

“Can we be friends, Dean?”

“Y-yeah,” Dean says, sniffling and feeling like a little kid.

“Well, friends forgive each other for being jerks, do they not?”

“Yeah…”

“And friends help each other out when they’re having a rough day, right?”

“You’re here to help me?”

“I came to see if you were okay. You’re not okay.”

“Today’s a bad day.”

“I agree.”

“I’m so _tired,_ Cas.” Now that he’s finally told someone everything, Dean feels exhausted, like he hasn’t slept in a long, long time. Suddenly the thought of stepping foot into his store sounds… horrible.

“You certainly look tired,” Castiel says.

“I get plenty of sleep every night, I swear.”

“You’ve slept, but I don’t think you’ve rested in a very long time. So you’re going to do that now, okay? You’re going to take a week off.”

“I am?”

“I can’t force you.”

Dean leans back against the back of the couch, which has the unfortunate side effect of removing Castiel’s fingers from his hair. “I want… I _need_ a break from the store. But then I’ll lose money, I’ll have to throw out some inventory, I...”

Castiel frowns. “Would the financial loss cause problems for you?”

“No… not really.”

“Then… maybe just this once, it’s okay to lose money and have to throw out some inventory.”

“Yeah. Yeah… I know that, but I… don’t _know_ that. Do you know what I mean?”

“I think so. You’re saying that on some level you know it’s okay to take time off, but that stubborn, prideful part of you hasn’t quite gotten the message.”

Dean looks away, embarrassed. “Yeah, you’ve got it.”

“I know that part of you is hard to ignore, but from what you have told me, it hasn’t served you all that well in the past.”

Dean shakes his head. “It really hasn’t.”

“Alright, so… you own the store. I’m assuming you can’t just not show up… are there people you need to call? Things to sort out?”

Dean nods. “I gotta cancel deliveries for the week…”

“Well, let’s get that taken care of… and then you can get some rest for as long as you need, alright?”

He’s being coddled. Dean is well aware that he’s being coddled. But after years spent being no one’s priority, it feels pretty damn good. He makes a few calls while Castiel does dishes in the kitchen, coat sleeves tucked into Dean’s oversized dish gloves. He calls to cancel his deliveries, then he calls Gadreel to let him know not to come in. After that, he calls Sam with a list of perishables to take to the food bank in Springfield, since Sam is the only other person with a key to the store, and Dean wouldn’t want anyone else in there while he’s not around.

“Thanks for doing this, Sam. I’d do it myself, but I feel like I don’t want to be there at _all_ for a few days, you know?”

“You’re really taking some time off?”

Dean sighs. “Yes, Sam.”

“That’s good, Dean, that’s _so_ good.”

“Stop being giddy,” Dean says, glaring at nothing in particular.

“I’m _not,_ ” Sam insists, “I just think it’s a good idea.”

“ _Ugh_.”

“Okay I’m going to get off the phone before I make you change your mind or something. How about I bring you some take and bake pizza tomorrow after I go to the food bank?”

“That… that right there is a _damn_ fine idea.”

“Alright, I’ll be by tomorrow evening, okay? Take care, Dean. See you soon.”

“See you soon, Sammy.” Dean ends the call, and jumps slightly in his seat when he realizes that Castiel is in the room with him.

“What’s a damn fine idea?”

“Nosy.”

Castiel smiles. “Yes. What’s a damn fine idea?”

“Just Sam bringing some pizza by tomorrow. Haven’t had a pizza that wasn’t frozen first in months.”

“Ah, comfort food. Speaking of, I was going to make you something to eat, but your supplies are… lacking.”

Dean groans. “Yeah, I mean my store has some decent supplies if I do say so myself, but if you want fresher groceries, you’ve gotta make the trip to the grocery store down in Martinville, or go even further to Springfield or Eugene. I haven’t done that in ages… I never feel like I have the time. I guess I do now… have time, I mean.”

“That can be a task for another day,” Castiel says. “I’m going to go to the deli, okay?”

“Oh, uh… sure. Okay.”

“Just relax. And… Dean?”

“Yeah?”

“No more whiskey while I’m gone, alright?”

Dean nods, feeling his cheeks flush. “Alright.”

Castiel leaves, and the first thing Dean does is shed his clothes and make a beeline for the shower. He should have realized Castiel would smell the whiskey on him.

His shower is quick, and then he’s brushing his teeth, rinsing his mouth, and changing into yet another pair of flannel pajamas; these a soft, grey set. He even sprays his sheets and blanket with a bit of Febreeze in case they smell like whiskey. Then when he’s done, Dean curls up in his bed, trying to “relax” as instructed.

Easier said than done.

 


	8. (Still Monday, September 28th)

Castiel is gone for over an hour, and Dean’s starting to think maybe he’s not going to come back at all. The deli’s only twelve miles from here, not exactly a long drive. Fuck. Maybe Dean was too emotional, too needy. This is why he doesn’t have any damn friends, he always—

The sound of the front door closing breaks Dean’s train of thought.

“Dean?” Castiel calls.

“I’m in bed!”

Castiel appears in Dean’s doorway, holding bags from Case Delicatessen, which is owned by one of the area’s oldest residents, Gertrude Case. Dean’s eyes zero in on the large cartoonish bee pin on the lapel of Castiel’s coat. That wasn’t there before.

“I’m so sorry I took so long,” Castiel says, sounding sincere. “I got… distracted.”

“You went to Cain’s Curios, I take it.”

“I uh… well it’s _right_ next to the deli, and I’ve always been fascinated by honey bees. Have you ever been to the store?”

Dean chuckles. “Oh, yeah. Cain’s been there well over a decade. Worked there one summer, actually. Don’t remember a _thing_ about bees and honey, but he did teach me a lot about wood carving between customers. He makes all the little wood trinkets in his store.”

“Goodness. I bought some, but he didn’t mention that he’d made them himself. They’re very intricate.”

“Yeah, he’s got a real steady hand. My dad was good with big stuff, furniture and shit, but he couldn’t make detailed things like Cain. So. He get you to buy some honey?”

“Um… a bit. Four jars.”

Dean snorts, sitting up in his bed. “Cain won’t let you leave without buying some honey, I swear. How much did you end up spending there?”

“Um… that’s not…”

“That bad, huh?”

Castiel sighs. “Almost two hundred dollars.”

“Holy _shit._ ”

“He gave me a free t-shirt!” Castiel says, looking embarrassed.

“Let me see.”

“It’s in my car…”

“Is it the hot pink one with the two bees kissing?”

“Yes,” Castiel says, head hanging low.

“That’s my favorite. His wife designed that one.”

Castiel looks surprised. “He’s… married? That’s odd.”

“Sorry, should have said late wife. Colette’s been gone a good… nine years?”

Castiel frowns. “That’s very sad.”

“Why did you say it was _odd_ that he was married?”

“Oh, he was propositioning me sexually, and he mentioned his boyfriend, but not a wife.”

“What. _What?_ ”

“I thought it would be odd to mention a boyfriend but not a wife…” Castiel looks Dean over. “Weren’t you in green pajamas when I left?”

“He _propositioned_ you?”

“Yes. Do you want to eat in here, or at your table?” Castiel frowns down at the bag in his hand. “Actually, I got soup, we should eat at the table.” He turns and leaves the room and Dean slowly follows, trying to decide if the mental image of Cain and Castiel having sex is upsetting or arousing.

Castiel unloads his deli purchases onto Dean’s small dining table; it looks like a lot of food.

“I wasn’t sure what you’d want, so I got a variety. I’m fine with eating whichever you don’t want. For soup we have French onion, tomato basil, corn chowder, or minestrone. Then for sandwiches we have turkey bacon, pastrami, Italian, or roast beef.”

“Jesus,” Dean says, retrieving some spoons from the dish rack. “How much did this cost?”

“Hmm… I think it was about fifty dollars.”

Dean whistles. “Pretty steep. I’ll pay you back for some of this, okay?”

Castiel shakes his head. “It’s fine, don’t worry about paying me back. Besides, I think it was still pretty inexpensive compared to Los Angeles prices. There was a restaurant across the street from my old job, wonderful sandwiches just this size… ten dollars each.”

“ _Wow._ Well, these all look good. I’ll take the Italian sub, and the tomato basil soup.”

“Hm, good choice. I’ll do the roast beef sandwich and the French onion,” Castiel declares, returning the remaining items to the bags and setting them on the counter.

The first thing Dean does when he sits is take a big spoonful of his tomato basil soup, sighing happily at the smell and blowing on the spoon a few times to cool it down. It tastes so comforting. Dean hasn’t had soup that wasn’t straight out of a can in ages, and he knows for a fact Gertrude makes her soups in store.

“Thanks so much for this, Cas… for the food, for… for forgiving me… everything.”

Castiel smiles, taking the lid off of his soup. “What are friends for?”

Dean smiles back, then down at his soup. He hasn’t made a friend in such a long time.

They eat in silence for a while, the good flavors and warm soup going a long way towards soothing Dean’s emotional pain. Unfortunately, those good flavors aren’t distracting Dean from the thoughts of Castiel and Cain swirling around in his head. He wonders if he can pull off asking about it without sounding jealous. Probably not, but he’s going to give it a shot.

“So, um… you and Cain, huh?”

Castiel pauses in dipping a hunk of his sandwich into his soup. “Pardon?”

“Are you gonna uh… accept his offer?”

Castiel sets his sandwich down. “It was quite flattering, Cain is a very attractive man, but… I’d feel weird about it. I’ve never had a _threesome_ before, and for the time being Mr. MacLeod is essentially my landlord. I’d feel uncomfortable about having casual sex with him.”

Dean almost drops his sandwich. “Mr. MacLeod? _Crowley_ is Cain’s boyfriend?”

“Yes… although Cain referred to him as ‘Fergie’.”

“ _Fergie_?! Oh, God… I don’t wanna know this, man.”

“I take it you find it difficult to view Mr. MacLeod… Crowley… as a sexual being.”

Dean’s face is in his hands now. “Stop.”

“This is such an odd reaction, are you repulsed by Crowley?”

“He’s _Crowley._ I mean he’s not repulsive, he’s just… Crowley.”

“He seems like a sexually attractive man to me, but I suppose everyone has different tastes.”

“So if he didn’t run the inn, you’d be all over him?”

Castiel shrugs. “Maybe. I have no idea. I think I would still feel intimidated by the threesome aspect. Have you ever...” Castiel trails off, eyes widening slightly. “This can’t possibly be appropriate lunch time conversation for two new friends.”

“I don’t know, haven’t had a new friend in a while,” Dean says. “Anyway, I’ve never really had a threesome, to answer your almost-question. I like to focus my attention on one partner, you know?”

“Ah… yes, I uh…” Castiel takes a bite of his sandwich and falls silent, blushing just a little.

“Okay maybe this really is weird lunchtime conversation for two new friends.” They nibble at their food for a few more moments before Dean speaks again. “So, um… what have you been up to? I mean… in the last week.”

“Oh… not much. I’ve mostly been in my room, working.”

“ _Working._ ”

“It’s a… personal project.”

“Personal, like ‘I’m embarrassed and don’t want to talk about it’, or personal like ‘I don’t talk about it because it’s illegal’?”

Castiel rolls his eyes and smiles. “The first one.”

Dean wants to push, but Castiel even being here is a small miracle after how Dean acted. No need to put a strain on things by being nosy. “Have you checked out the area at all?”

“Not really. It’s very beautiful out here, but it’s a bit daunting. I’m new, and haven’t spent all that much time with nature. I’ve never even been camping.”

Dean stands. “Well, let’s change that.”

“What, now?”

“It’s the perfect time. I have nowhere to be, we’ve got some energy from eating good food. There’s a park about two miles up the road with a great view of the river.”

“The river is right behind your home.”

“Yeah, but we’re on a high riverbank, and it’s better at the park, trust me.”

“Alright,” Castiel says, smiling. “Show me this great view.”

Dean hurries to put the leftovers in the fridge, then changes into a clean pair of jeans and a black t-shirt. Once he has his boots and his father’s old leather jacket on, he snags his keys and leads Castiel out to the Impala. It’s not all that long of a walk to Carver Edlund Park, but it’s already after four. There might not be enough daylight left to walk there and back. The ride is short and silent, but not in any sort of uncomfortable way. Castiel is busy taking in the scenery, and Dean is busy thinking about how Castiel seems to somehow smell like sunshine.

Carver Edlund Park is attached to a short road just off of Filbert Highway. At first glance, it seems like a small patch of land, but the single path in the park weaves through half a mile of hilly forest before ending right at the river. They walk past a few unoccupied picnic benches and head down the path slowly. Castiel looks so _happy_ as he takes in his surroundings, and Dean can hear the deep, savoring breaths he’s taking of the clean, forest air.

“This is… _wonderful,_ ” Castiel says, sighing dreamily. “I’m already glad we came. I knew there were some national park areas nearby, but I was a bit apprehensive about venturing into them alone.”

“Well, you’re a newbie. Stay here long enough, and I bet you’ll be wandering all over these woods like I used to.”

“This would be a very lovely area for jogging.”

“You run?”

“I had a treadmill at my old apartment… haven’t run since I’ve been here.”

“I’m more of an uh… exercise-through-walking kind of guy.”

“Any exercise is better than none, keeps the heart healthy.”

Dean abruptly finds himself thinking about his father’s heart attack.

“Dean?” Castiel says, turning to look back at him. Dean realizes they’ve stopped walking. “Are you alright?”

“Sorry, just… thinking about my dad… wondering if he was getting enough exercise.”

Castiel’s eyes go soft and concerned. Dean doesn’t deserve it. “I’m sorry, I should have been more careful with my words,” Castiel says, “especially today of all days. Do you want to go back?”

“No, I… no. We didn’t even get to the river yet.”

“The river can wait, Dean.”

“I know, but I want to be here. I haven’t been out here in years, it’s nice.”

Castiel smiles timidly. “That it is.”

They continue down the path, walking close enough to each other that their hands are almost touching. It’s quiet, save for the chirps of a few birds and the sound of rushing water as they get closer to the river. When they reach the end of the path and step through the tree line, Castiel lets out a soft, awed sound.

Unlike the riverbank behind Dean’s house, which is several yards high with no way down, this is right at level with the water. There’s a fork in the river just upstream; the right fork calm and almost still, the left, closer fork rocky and chaotic.

Dean can remember coming here when he was younger, driving his beat up old Honda from Hazelnut Valley to this park, spending hours marveling at the difference between the two forks of the same river and making clumsy sketches of his surroundings. This spot isn’t as popular as some of the other parks in the area. There are no benches by the river, no areas for camping, or cooking, and the only bathroom is a port-a-potty back in the small parking area. People rarely come here to make noise and leave trash, and that was another reason why it was Dean’s favored spot.

“Oh, this is perfect,” Castiel mutters, and Dean does his best to ignore the growing urge to grab Castiel’s hand. “This would be a perfect spot for writing.”

“You write?”

Castiel looks at Dean, startled. “Oh… uh, yes, I enjoy writing.”

“That’s awesome, man. What kind of stuff do you write?” Castiel is looking around frantically, like maybe he’s trying to come up with a good lie. Dean frowns. “Cas, you don’t have to tell me if it’s too personal. It’s okay for people to have a secret or two, you know?”

Castiel lets out a relieved sigh. “I apologize, Dean, I’ve just always kept that to myself. My parents never approved, and keeping my writing from them eventually became keeping my writing from _everyone_.”

“Don’t worry, I get it. I know how one small thing can become a big thing given enough time. Like the thing with me not coming home.” Dean shrugs. “Anyway, aside from people in rafts and kayaks coming by, this area is real peaceful, great for writing.”

“Rafts and kayaks?”

“Yeah, they can be a little annoying, honestly. I hear them whooping and hollering from the river. They come in through the left fork, there’s a launch site a few miles upriver. They’re mostly around during the summer, but I’ve seen people go by in kayaks in _January._ ”

“What about you? Have you ever gone rafting down the river?”

“Yeah… I didn’t like it. In a raft there’s all this noise and commotion, and in a kayak I’m too busy steering to enjoy the river. I’d rather sit and enjoy it like this.”

There’s a mossy old fallen tree just a few feet from the edge of the river. It looks pretty old, but it wasn’t there the last time Dean was here. His heart skips a beat when Castiel sits right next to him. It feels like it’s been years since Dean last had a crush, even though it hasn’t. It’s been less than two years since things with Ann Marie fizzled, and before he ended up packing up and moving back home, there’d been a barista Dean had been thinking about asking out. It’s a little exciting though, having a crush. Especially on someone like Castiel, who’s just a little bit unknown, a little bit weird.

When Castiel stretches his legs out in front of him, Dean can see he’s wearing the bright pink socks Dean gave him.

Definitely a little bit weird.

They sit in silence for a few minutes, watching the water, waving when two women in kayaks go by.

“What made you decide enough was enough? Back in LA?” Dean says.

“I don’t think it was any one large thing, but there were lots of smaller things.”

“Like what?”

“I was very much under my parents’ thumbs. The whole family is, really. We were raised to be obedient, and so we were. We all worked at Sandover, lived in places approved by our parents, and aside from Gabriel, we all dated whomever our parents _suggested_ we should date.”

“Ooh, was Gabriel the rebel in your family?”

“To a degree. Gabriel lives in the building they told him to live in, which is owned by a family friend, but he throws loud parties almost weekly and angers all of his neighbors. He works for the firm like they wanted, but he comes to the office in Hawaiian shirts and cargo shorts. And when it came to dating, Gabriel said ‘I’ll be your dancing monkey at work, Mom, but you’re not telling me who to fuck.’”

“Damn, he really said that?”

“I always envied him for that. He is the bravest of us.”

“You seem plenty brave to me.”

Castiel shakes his head. “Not really. I told my family I was leaving in an _e-mail,_ then smashed my phone and left the pieces with my notice of resignation on my father’s desk. No one even knows where I am.”

“Damn, that’s harsh.”

“I was so very tired of it all. Enforcing their terrible company policies, living in that stupid pre-furnished condo, dating from their selection of boring snobs. I was _terrified_ when I came out, and so relieved when they were accepting… then I realized they were just excited to have an _in_ with gay business contacts, or gay sons of business contacts. My whole life is just a series of pieces on their chessboard, and the only goal of their game is to be wealthier and more influential than they were the year before.”

Dean puts an arm around Castiel’s shoulders, trying not to worry that he’s overstepping. Castiel just sighs and sags against him, though, and Dean grips him a little tighter.

“I’m thirty-six years old,” Castiel continues, “and I ran away from home. I’m not brave. If I were brave, I would have quit right to their faces. Instead I left the e-mail. I was afraid that staring into my mother’s disappointed eyes would crumble my resolve. I donated my belongings to Goodwill, drained my account and left the money in Gabriel’s office, even ditched my credit cards. I’m living off of money in an account the family never knew I had. I’m afraid they’ll show up and tell me to go back, and I’m so _spineless_ I’d probably go. I’m not brave.”

“Yeah, well… I still think you are. But if you really are a spineless jellyfish of a man, Cas, just come hide behind me if they come looking. I’ll give them the stink eye for ya.”

“I might hold you to that.”

  
  


*

  
  


They spend quite a while on the fallen log. Castiel tells Dean all about his boring, unfulfilling job as a human resources manager in a faceless, greedy corporation, and Dean… Dean alternates between paying attention to the words being said, and wondering when Castiel is going to notice the arm Dean _still_ has around his shoulders. This is nice… awesome, even. Instead of spending the day drunk and agonizing over his dead, somewhat estranged father, Dean got a tasty lunch, and now he’s pretty much cuddling in his favorite spot.

“Dean?”

Dean blinks a few times, turning his head slightly to look over at Castiel. “Sorry, what was that?”

“I asked if you have a flashlight?”

“There’s one in my car, why… oh.” Dean trails off as he looks around. It’s almost dark out. When did the sun go down? Have they really been sitting here for hours? “Well, shit. Time got away from me a bit.”

Dean reluctantly moves his arm away, wincing when he realizes it’s stiff from being around Castiel for what was apparently a couple of hours. He stands, stretching his arms over his head. “Guess we’d better head back while we can still see where we’re going.”

“It’s a little spooky out here, now that it’s getting dark.”

Dean grins, pulling Castiel to his feet. “Scared of the dark, Cas?” he says, leading Castiel up the path.

“Am I afraid of being in dark, unfamiliar woods with no light or weapon? Yes. Yes I am.”

“Aw, that’s so cute. Big grown man, all scared of the d—” Dean yelps as he trips over something, pitching forward and nearly falling to the ground as Castiel reaches out and catches him with both hands. Dean straightens himself up, hoping it’s dark enough out to hide the blush he can feel on his cheeks. “Well that was fucking embarrassing. Nice of you to come to my rescue.”

Castiel starts walking again, and when he responds his voice is definitely a bit smug. “It was instinct. If I’d been thinking clearly, I would have let you fall on your face.”

“You’d have let me fall on my _face_?”

“For making fun of me.”

“Aww, don’t be like that.”

“I lived in Los Angeles my whole life, I have no experience with dark and spooky forests,” Castiel says, looking around a bit anxiously as they get further up the path. Away from the open sky, it’s definitely a bit darker, though still visible.

“Don’t worry, Cas. I’ll protect you.”

“Comforting, coming from a man that just tripped on a rock.”

“It was a pretty big rock, Cas.”

  
  


*

  
  


Darkness comes quickly, and by the time they’re back at the car, Dean can barely see in front of himself.

“There we go,” Dean says as they close the Impala’s doors, “safe in the car.”

“I wasn’t _that_ scared,” Castiel says.

“Don’t worry, I won’t think less of you if you need me to hold you.”

“I bet. I’m fine, really. My heart rate is already returning to normal after being _barely_ elevated.”

“I get freaked out in the woods at night too, you know,” Dean says, starting up the car.

“You do?”

“Dude, it’s the woods at _night,_ of course I do. Feel like going back to my place and splitting those deli leftovers?”

“I would enjoy that very much, Dean.”

  
  


*

  
  


They go back to the cabin, and Dean feeds his posse of cats while Castiel reheats the soup from the deli. Castiel takes his jacket off for the first time all day, and Dean smiles when he sees Castiel is wearing one of the old shirts Dean lent him, something pleased and maybe possessive unfurling in his belly.

“You finally made a friend, Dean,” Dean mutters to himself, “don’t fucking creep on him.”

“What was that?” Castiel says, setting the sandwiches out.

“Just uh… deciding which sandwich I want.”

“I’m calling the corn chowder, but you can pick your sandwich.”

Dean nods slowly. “Uh… cool.”

Dinner is pleasant. They chat about some of Dean’s favorite spots in the area, and Dean only gets distracted staring at Castiel’s mouth twice, which isn’t so bad. Then the meal is over, and Dean is driving Castiel back to the inn, wishing he had an excuse to ask him to stay longer. He pulls into the parking lot of the inn and his heart sinks just a little at the sound of Castiel unbuckling his seatbelt. This crush really snuck up on him.

“Thanks so much for today,” Dean says. “You spent all this time with me, and… just everything you did today means a lot.”

“Of course, Dean. Thank you for being open and listening to my own story today. I don’t have a phone, but if you need anything, you know where to find me.”

“Eating peanut butter and preserves in your room at the inn?”

Castiel smiles. “Yes.”

“Well… maybe I could come by sometime this week. Or you can come by my place again. Or uh… the store, when I’m back at work.”

“I’m sure I’ll see you again soon.”

“Yeah. Uh… well, goodnight, Cas.”

“Goodnight, Dean.”

There’s a pause, a moment where Castiel is just staring at Dean, eyes barely visible in the lights cast by the inn. It feels a little like the end of a first date, when Dean’s not quite sure if a goodnight kiss is on the menu.

Dean really, really wants to kiss this guy.

Castiel shakes his head slightly, breaking the moment. He gives Dean another smile and exits the Impala, walking briskly up the path to the inn. Dean sighs, watching Castiel until he’s all the way inside before pulling onto the highway and heading home.

  
  


*

  
  


Dean spends the rest of the night in bed, watching episodes of Chopped on Netflix and brushing his cats. If he’s being honest, it’s not the _worst_ way to spend a night, but he can’t help but wish Castiel was with him.

  
  


 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The river where I live is right behind my house, and I hear people going WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!! in big rafting groups all summer long. Suuuuper annoying. Took me years to realize it's because there's a somewhat bumpy bit of rapids right up the river from my house, and people get excited going through it. Personally, I've never been. I can't swim and I'm terrified of deep water. :)


	9. (Tuesday, September 29th)

“Hello?”

“Wow… are you asleep? At nine in the morning? Crazy times.”

Dean groans at the sound of his brother’s voice. “I _was_ asleep.” Rugaru meows, and Dean nudges him off the bed with his foot.

“Was that a cat? Are you sleeping with them?”

“Shut up, Sam.”

“No, hey, I mean Dad used to do that when they were still young, it was adorable!”

“I’m hanging up.”

“No, come on, I’m just fucking around.”

“You’re interrupting my vacation time to make fun of me.”

“Oh, this is a full-on vacation? Are you in a Hawaiian shirt and sipping margaritas with all your cat friends?”

Dean ends the call, glaring at his phone while he scratches Okami behind the ears. The phone rings, and Dean sticks his tongue out at it before picking it up and answering.

“ _What._ ”

“You have gotten _cranky_ in your old age.”

“I can end the call again,” Dean grumbles.

“Oh calm down, you big baby.”

“Did you call for a reason, or what?”

“I’m at the store, loading up stuff to get rid of.”

“Okay?”

“Can I have some beef jerky?”

“Is beef jerky on the list of perishables I gave you?”

“No…”

“Then _no._ ”

“Come on! Just one bag!” Sam whines.

“The beef jerky isn’t about to expire, why would I give it to you?”

“Because I like beef jerky!”

“Vulture.”

“Hey, I’m taking off work to take this stuff to the food bank, _and_ bringing you pizza later.”

“Fine… _fine,_ you can have a pack of beef jerky.”

“And I’m keeping one of these gallons of milk for myself.”

“VULTURE!”

  
  


*

  
  


Not content to spend his vacation eating granola bars and canned kidney beans, Dean drags himself into his car around noon, making the hour long drive down to Martinville, to the nearest actual grocery store. He’s in the store for over half an hour, lazily filling his cart, when he hears someone call out his name. He stands up straight, muttering a reminder to himself to be more personable. He turns, smiling when he sees Charlie pushing her cart his way.

“Well, fancy seeing you here!” Charlie says, cheerful as ever.

“You ah… changed your hair.”

Charlie shrugs and smiles, absently twirling a short, wavy lock of red hair around one finger. “Yeah, well, after Gilda left I kinda wanted a change, you know?”

“Woah, woah, what? Gilda _left_? When the fuck did this happen?”

Charlie looks confused. “Didn’t I… I guess I haven’t been by the store this month, huh… yeah, Dean, she’s gone. She took off three weeks ago.”

“You’re fucking kidding me,” Dean says. His heart’s a little broken by the news. Gilda and Charlie have been together for at least four years. The times Dean saw them together they had seemed so solid.

“I’m surprised you didn’t know, _everyone_ knows. I ditched work for over a week… Sam and Jo had to drag me kicking and screaming into the shower. Sam didn’t tell you any of this?”

“ _No,_ ” Dean says, pulling out his phone and angrily typing a message to his brother.

 **DEAN - 9/29 - 12:47pm:** why the fuck didn’t you tell me about Charlie and Gilda

“I’m so sorry, Charlie,” he says when he’s done texting, “if I’d known, I would’ve… I don’t know. Done something.”

“It’s okay, I mean I wasn’t alone, and I’m a lot better now.”

Dean’s phone buzzes.

 **SAM - 9/29 - 12:50pm:** You’ve been in a mood for months, I didn’t want to make it worse.

 **DEAN - 9/29 - 12:51pm:** DUDE.

 **SAM - 9/29 - 12:51pm:** If that was the wrong call, I’m sorry.

“God damn _ass,_ ” Dean growls, stuffing his phone back into his pocket. “What happened, Charlie?”

“We hit kind of a massive roadblock,” Charlie says, frowning down at her cart. “She wanted kids, I don’t.”

“Oh… damn. Damn, that’s rough.”

“You know I love kids, Dean, and I was even a surrogate for my friends in Portland, remember? What was that, seven years ago? But being a full time parent… that’s just not what I want.”

“Guess you’re more the ‘cool aunt’ type, huh?”

Charlie shrugs. “I guess the worst part is how it ended. No one cheated, no one fell out of love… but staying together with _that_ over our heads, each hoping the other would change her mind… that would be cruel to both of us, so we ended things,” she says, squeaking when Dean rushes over and pulls her into a hug.

“I am so, _so_ sorry, Charlie.”

“I’m okay. I mean I’m okay enough. I’m not like ready to go out and get _laid,_ but I’m done crying on the daily and whatnot.”

“You were always good at that… shaking off the bad stuff and getting back in the game.”

“My superpower,” Charlie says brightly. “That and having total recall of all things Harry Potter.”

“Of course.”

“Now if only I could use these great gifts for evil…” Charlie lets out a loud, evil cackle, and an old woman with a cart full of flour stares, appalled. “Anyway, I’m due at Singer’s in like an hour, so I gotta get moving. It’s good to see you out and about, Dean. I heard you were taking some time off. It’s about damn time.”

Dean narrows his eyes. “Good talk, Charlene.”

Charlie smirks. “Be seeing you.” She flashes the Vulcan peace sign, as is her custom, and then she’s pushing her cart past Dean and out of the canned food aisle. Dean watches her go, then takes his phone back out to see his text messages.

 **SAM - 9/29 - 12:55pm:** I wasn’t trying to be insulting, Dean.

 **SAM - 9/29 - 12:56pm:** You’ve been so disconnected from everyone since you came back, I didn’t know if you’d even care.

 **SAM - 9/29 - 12:56pm:** That came out wrong.

 **SAM - 9/29 - 12:57pm:** Fuck I’m turning off my phone before you disinvite me from your house or something.

 **DEAN - 9/29 - 1:08pm:** idiot

  
  


*

  
  


Once Dean’s home and his groceries are put away, he putters around the house for a few hours, cleaning, reading, definitely _not_ wondering what Castiel is up to. At six-thirty Sam shows up bearing pizza, his sad puppy eyes turned up to eleven.

“I didn’t mean you didn’t care like an _asshole_ or anything,” Sam says as soon as Dean opens the door, “I just… you keep everyone at arm’s length.” He doesn’t wait for a response, instead nudging his way into the house and walking to the kitchen. Dean goes to close the door and realizes the cats are there, all staring up at him expectantly.

“Hey, guys.”

Crocatta meows in reply, and Dean goes into the kitchen to pull cans of food out of the pantry while Sam is futzing with the stove.

“Getting dinner for your furbabies?” Sam says.

Dean groans, thunking his head against the wall by the pantry and fighting the urge to chuck a can of salmon pâté at Sam’s head. “Don’t ever, _ever_ call them that again, Jesus fucking _Christ_.”

“I heard Charlie say it once, I thought it was cute.”

“Never again.”

By the time the oven is preheated for the take-and-bake pizza, Dean has fed his cats, and cleaned a layer of dust off the TV. Sam is crouched in front of the TV stand, skimming through the mix of Dean and their father’s DVDs.

“Okay, is this yours, or Dad’s?” Sam says, holding up a copy of Bridget Jones’s Diary.

“Uh… mine.”

“And Mean Girls?”

“Mine.”

“What about When Harry Met Sally?”

“That one’s Dad’s.”

“I’m learning so much about my family…”

“Are you going to pick a movie, or what?”

Sam stands, grinning and waving the DVD for Mean Girls in the air. “This one!”

Dean smirks. “Good choice.”

They put the movie on once the pizza is ready, socked feet propped up on the coffee table, plates of piping hot pizza in their laps. It’s nice. Sam’s been over a few times since Dean moved in, but they haven’t kicked back and relaxed together since Christmas.

“I would have cared about Charlie, just so you know,” Dean says, thirty minutes into the movie.

Sam sets his fourth slice of pizza down and pauses the movie. “Dean, I am genuinely so sorry for saying that. It came out all fucking wrong. Of _course_ you care.”

“Okay, well… how was it supposed to come out?”

Sam sighs. “Like I said at first, you’ve been all bummy lately, and—”

“And you thought hearing about Charlie and Gilda would either send me into a black pit of despair, or get no reaction at all?”

“It’s not because I think you’re a bad person, okay? But sometimes with depression—”

“Woah, woah, woah. Who’s _depressed_?”

Sam looks genuinely confused. “Uh… you?”

“Since when am I depressed?”

“Months… years, maybe. I never knew how to bring it up, but it’s been there a long time, Dean.”

“But I don’t… I’m not—”

“I think it could be… what some refer to as ‘situational depression’. Unhappiness with life in general went on too long, maybe… and it started to have a lasting impact on your mental health? Or maybe it’s a chemical thing? This is why I was pushing you to hire someone. I thought if your situation changed and you got better, well then I’d know it was you needing a change in your life.”

“And if not?”

“Then I guess I’d have suggested therapy or something? I don’t know, Dean, I was still working out a plan.” Sam looks at Dean and groans. “Stop looking at me like that, suggesting you’re depressed isn’t an _insult,_ okay?”

Dean sighs, soft and defeated as he leans back against the couch and turns his head toward Sam. “It did help. Sort of. I promise I’m happier here than I was anywhere else.”

“But you never talk to anyone, you don’t go out and have fun… I mean when’s the last time you hung out with a friend?”

Two days ago Dean wouldn’t have had an answer. “Yesterday.”

“See? And… wait, really? Yesterday?”

“I made a friend. We had lunch. And dinner.”

Sam rolls his eyes. “Dean you don’t have to pretend—”

“Dude, he’s not _imaginary._ He’s a real person, he spent the day with me yesterday.”

“Someone I know?”

“Kind of… I think you fixed his door knob at the inn.”

“The peanut butter and jelly guy?”

Wow, does Castiel really eat peanut butter and jelly _that_ often? “Uh… I guess?”

“Well that’s great!”

“I’ve only talked to him a few times…”

“And?”

Dean takes a bite of pizza. “And what?”

“Did it make you feel any better?”

“Honestly? Yeah. We talked, and I shared my sad story, and we had lunch, and I showed him Carver Edlund Park.”

Sam is nodding along with interest, and then he stops, a weird look on his face. “You, uh… took him to the park?”

“Yeah? What’s wrong with the park?”

“Nothing, it’s just… that was your _spot,_ right? That was where you went to be alone and contemplative… you only took girlfriends you were really into down there.”

Damn it.

“It’s not a _secret_ park, Sam. People go there all the time.”

“No they don’t, that’s why you liked it so much.” Sam looks like he’s trying to peer directly into Dean’s brain. “Do you… do you _like_ him?”

“I barely know the guy, Sam.”

“Uh huh. I’m sure that’s true, but that’s not what I asked, now is it?”

“He’s a _guy_.”

“Also not what I asked, Dean. And come on. ‘He’s a guy’ means nothing, I know about you and Benny.”

“WHAT?” Dean jumps to his feet, frowning when his slice of pizza falls face-down onto the floor. “How do… _how_?”

Sam picks the pizza up off the floor, setting it on Dean’s plate. “Don’t be mad, it was years ago. Back when him and Andrea split up for a while. You’d been gone a few years already at that point. Anyway he was in The Roadhouse, drunk as hell and wailing about all his lost loves. Your name came up.”

“And no one bothered to tell me?!” Dean snaps, slowly sitting back down. He looks at the slice of pizza, dismayed to see all the pine needles and cat hair now stuck to it. He should vacuum more.

“The general consensus was that since you hadn’t told anyone, it was probably something you wouldn’t want to talk about. No one wanted to give you a reason to stay away, and Benny doesn’t even remember spilling the beans.”

Dean scrubs a hand over his face, already mentally burying Benny’s body out by Sinclair Pond. “Okay, so who’s _we_? Who was there when he told you?”

“Oh, the usual. Me, Bobby, Ellen, Jo, Ash, Garth was there I think, Cain… and uh… Dad was in to pick up a to go order...”

Dean groans. “How’d he take it?”

“He said it was a shame you and Benny hadn’t worked out, because maybe then you wouldn’t have gone running off with Bela.”

“Oh, that’s hysterical. I thought I was in the closet… but apparently there’s no closet to be in.”

“Consider it one less thing to worry about.”

Dean sighs. “I guess. But really? Nobody cared?”

“Not really, not in a negative way. I mean yeah, Dad thought you were gay for like a year until I explained bisexuals to him, but… I mean no one has a problem with Charlie being gay, why would we have a problem with you being bi?”

Amazing. Dean’s father thought he was gay for a _year_ and never brought it up. “God… I don’t know. I don’t know why I thought it needed to be a secret,” Dean says, feeling very tired suddenly.

“Sooo…”

“So what?”

“What about PB and J Guy? Do you like him or what?”

Oh right, that’s how they got on this topic. “His name’s _Castiel,_ and… yeah, I had a crush… type… thing going, and then I fucked things up when I bit his head off over something stupid the other week… and now I’m just grateful he wants to be friends. I was a total dick to him and he still came by, because the store was closed and he was worried.”

“You’re smiling.”

“What? Shut up. No I’m not,” Dean says, trying to school his face into a neutral expression.

Sam gets this big, dopey grin on his face, and Dean’s about ready to run off into his room and hide under his bed or something.

“ _Stop it,_ Sam,” Dean whines.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. It’s just… you were smiling, and it was a _real_ smile, you know?”

Dean glares. “Be quiet and eat my gross slice of floor pizza.”

  
  


*

  
  


Sam leaves around eleven, and once Dean has tidied up he lies in his bed, thinking about the sheer _relief_ in Sam’s voice when he talked about Dean’s “real” smile.

Depression. Huh. As much as Dean feels compelled to deny it, that’s a pretty apt word for the state he’s been in since the day he realized he was going to let petty pride keep him from coming home. He still remembers exactly how he felt during that phone call with his father, how small and embarrassed that knowing, mocking tone John used had made him feel. He remembers after, looking around the half empty apartment he could no longer afford with Bela gone, the way he’d tried not to cry before realizing it didn’t matter, because he was well and truly alone in that little room.

After a life surrounded by friends and surrogate family, Dean had become such a solitary creature. Every year it felt harder to make new friends, and harder to talk to the ones he already had back home. He moved from city to city, barely connecting with anyone. Sometimes he’d start something up with a co-worker in whatever job he was working in that month, but nothing serious. It was pointless; Dean never stayed in a city longer than ten to twelve months. He figures that’s part of why he’s been so antsy this month. There’s a feeling like it’s time to go on to the next city and the next job, even though he’s _finally_ back where he wanted to be all those years. Maybe some part of Dean never came back.

Fuck, what a bummer.

This is it, though. Dean is home. He’s not planning on packing up and moving again… he should start acting like it.

But after over a decade of being a total loner, Dean’s not quite sure how to proceed.

  
  


 


	10. (Wednesday, September 30th)

Dean wakes up at ten on Wednesday, glaring at Lamia as she perches on his chest. Now that the cats are sleeping in the house, they seem to expect a morning meal. That’s probably good. Dean doesn’t know what they usually eat in the morning, but it’s probably small, adorable woodland creatures.

“May I fucking help you?” he says, yawning. Lamia steps forward, licking the tip of Dean’s nose. “At least you know how to ask nicely.” Dean shoos her off his chest so he can crawl out of bed and feed the sources of all the cat hair he keeps finding on his clothes.

By ten-thirty Dean’s fed the cats, showered, and gotten ingredients out to make breakfast. He’s in a breakfast burrito kind of mood, and for once he’s going to make some instead of eating the mediocre pre-made ones he stocks at the store.

There’s something about wandering around his home in just bunny slippers and a pair of black boxer briefs that has Dean feeling… peaceful. This is what people with leisure time do. Dean has leisure time. It’s pretty cool. He’s about to start cooking when he hears a meowing at the front door. He pads over, smiling at the way all four cats are there, ready to go outside and start their day.

“Remember our deal,” he says, “I feed you, and in return you _don’t_ bring me any presents from the forest.” He pulls open the door, brain grinding to a halt at the sight of Castiel on his porch, fist raised and about to knock on the door. Castiel is in his black peacoat, jeans, Dean’s shoes, and he’s also wearing a very surprised expression, eyes roaming down Dean’s severely underdressed form.

Well. At least he’s not naked, right?

“I, uh… hello, Dean,” Castiel mumbles.

“Morning, Cas.”

“You, um… have a tattoo…”

“Oh. Uh, yeah. Got it a few years ago. It’s uh…”

“It’s the symbol used at the start of every chapter in the Sheriffs Hunting Evil series.”

“Oh, you uh… recognize it.” Embarrassing.

“Ah. Yes, my sister…”

“Right, your sister’s a fan.”

Castiel is still staring at Dean’s tattoo. He’s blushing.

“How about I go put some clothes on?” Dean offers.

Castiel’s eyes snap to Dean’s. “My apologies, I’m being very rude.”

Dean wants to tell Castiel that he’s welcome to keep looking, but he refrains. Tentative new friendship to maintain and all that. “You city folk have no manners,” he drawls, winking and stepping back to let Castiel inside. “I’m gonna throw on something to wear, okay? One sec.”

Dean checks to make sure the cats have all gone outside before closing the door and darting off to his room. The flaming pentagram tattoo has gotten a few intrigued reactions since Dean got it, but none were as intense as Castiel’s. Dean feels embarrassed and giddy as he pulls on a pair of jeans and an ancient Metallica t-shirt. He steps back into his slippers then makes his way to the kitchen, where Castiel is surveying the ingredients set out, still faintly blushing.

“I’m terribly sorry for my poor timing,” Castiel says.

“It’s cool, not like I was naked.”

Castiel clears his throat loudly and Dean smirks to himself as Castiel seats himself at the table. “I ah… I really like your tattoo. It suits you.”

“You think? It was a birthday gift. To myself. It’s not just a chapter separator, you know. In the first book, Jody and Donna meet this seasoned monster hunter named Pastor Jim, and he tells them about ghosts and demons and stuff, and shows them the tattoo he got to ward off demonic possession… and then at the end of the book Jody and Donna decide to become hunters and get the tattoo as well. It’s such a great scene, it really cements their decision to be part of the hunting world.”

Castiel is silent, and when Dean turns to look at him he’s staring at the table, smiling faintly and biting his lower lip. “You really are quite a fan of the series, aren’t you?”

“Shut up! Lots of people get Harry Potter tattoos and Lord of the Rings tattoos, and plus this looks cool! And if demons ever turn out to be real, I can’t be possessed by one, so it’s a _practical_ tattoo, Cas.”

Castiel looks up from the table and into Dean’s eyes, smiling warmly. “I wasn’t suggesting your enthusiasm was something to be embarrassed about. I find it… you’re passionate about the series, that makes me happy.”

“Why? You haven’t even read it.”

“It’s just nice to see.”

“Sure… well, what do _you_ fanboy over?” Dean says, turning to start preparing his food.

Dean can hear the sound of Castiel’s fingers drumming on the tabletop before he answers. “Maybe bees?”

“ _Bees._ ”

“I watched a documentary on honey bees a couple of years ago. Fascinating. A little like watching the workers at Sandover, only… harmonious. Mesmerizing. Twenty to sixty thousand bees working toward a single goal. Well… the female bees work toward a single goal. The male bees are mostly there for mating, I suppose. Then they die. The males aren’t as important as the females. It’s still harmonious, though… it’s beautiful, and did you know that bees are the only insect that produce food eaten by humans?”

Dean stares at the pan in front of him, then turns to Castiel again, grinning when Castiel grimaces then sighs. “I mean… they’re interesting, is all.”

“I’m starting to see why you spent so much time at Cain’s.”

“I’ve never met someone so informed about bees, he was very knowledgeable.”

“Oh yeah, Cain fucking loves bees. If you ever feel like you’re jonesing for some bee chat, just… barely mention bees and he’ll talk your ear off for an hour.”

“That’s… good to know.”

“I mean, you can talk to me about bees too, Cas, I just won’t have interesting things to say about the wonderful world of honeybees, or his dumb, sexy beard.”

“Did you just say ‘dumb, sexy beard’?”

“ _No_.”

“Do you find Cain sexy, then?”

“ _Everyone_ finds him sexy, okay?” Dean says, brandishing a block of cheddar and gesturing at Castiel with it.

Castiel raises his eyebrows. “Very threatening with the cheese, there.”

Dean glowers and starts grating his cheese. “I might have had a thing for him back when I worked for him… but I was uh… younger, and he was uh… anyway, lots of people think he’s hot, so…”

“You sound profoundly embarrassed right now, Dean.”

“Shut up, Cas.”

  
  


*

  
  


They’re in the middle of eating when Dean realizes he has no idea why Castiel was on his porch. “So, uh… what brings you over? Bored? Hoping I’d feed you? Just miss me already?”

“I suppose so?”

Dean almost chokes on his burrito. “Really?”

“Well, I was thinking about you, so I came here to see you. Maybe that counts as missing you?”

“You uh… you were thinking about me?”

Castiel nods, taking a bite of his own burrito. How the fuck can Castiel just show up and say he was _thinking about Dean_ like it’s no big thing? Dean wonders if Castiel realizes how… _non-platonic_ that sounds.

“Did you have anything you wanted to do with me?” Dean just barely resists the urge to slap himself as soon as the words are out of his mouth. He could have worded that a million different ways, and he had to make it weird. Castiel has him all sputtery and awkward.

Castiel doesn’t seem to notice Dean’s weird choice of words, though. “Nothing specific, I was hoping you might want to… hang out, as they say.”

“Who’s ‘they’?”

“People other than myself, I suppose.”

  
  


*

  
  


They decide to watch Netflix with Dean’s laptop, which Dean sets on the coffee table atop a stack of old phone books. When Dean asks Castiel what he wants to watch, Castiel excitedly points to “The Great British Baking Show” in the trending section of Dean’s Netflix home page.

“I don’t do much cooking, but I love these sorts of shows,” Castiel says.

“They always make me hungry.”

“Well, it’s a good thing you just ate, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, yeah.”

They watch the show Castiel picked. Dean’s watched some Chopped and some Cupcake Wars episodes, but he’s never seen this one. It’s very different from the other shows Dean’s seen. The competitors seem like friends rather than rivals, and there’s no big prize. They’re baking for the sake of doing a good job and having a fun time. It’s oddly heartwarming. The cake episode still ends with Dean having a craving for Swiss rolls, though.

By five, they’ve watched six episodes, and Dean’s pastry cravings are turning into actual hunger.

“Alright,” he says, standing and stretching his arms over his head. Castiel does the same, and Dean tries not to stare at the flash of exposed hip bone as Castiel’s t-shirt rides up. It’s a _nice_ hip bone. “I need pie.”

“Are you going to bake now?”

“I _could,_ but I was thinking we could go into Hazelnut Valley, and I could show you The Roadhouse.”

“That’s the restaurant, yes?”

“And bar. Hung out there a ton in my younger years, but… I’ve kinda been avoiding it.”

Castiel’s expression is sympathetic. “It’s the big gathering spot for people you’ve fallen out of touch with.”

“Yeah…”

“And you thought bringing me along would take away some of the pressure of seeing them again, since you’d be there to ‘show me around the area’.”

Dean glares. “Stop being insightful. It’s obnoxious.”

Castiel smirks. Unfortunately, smug is a good look for him. “Let’s go get some food, Dean. My treat.”

  
  


 


	11. (Still Wednesday, September 30th)

  
  


It’s five-thirty when they get to The Roadhouse, which is far too early for the usual bar crowd to be in, so Dean’s hoping the amount of people who will give him shit is at a minimum. He wants to do this, but… he just doesn’t want it to be too much.

There’s quite a mix of people when Dean and Castiel get inside. Some of them are people that come by the store to say hi, some of them Dean has seen in his visits over the years, and some Dean hasn’t seen since he ran off with Bela.

Jo belongs to the first group, but that doesn’t stop her from taking one look at Dean and shouting “HE’S ALIVE! HE’S ALIVE! DEAN WINCHESTER IS _ALIVE,_ EVERYONE!”

A bunch of people cheer, and Dean starts to back away, only to find Castiel has a hold of his arm.

“Easy,” Castiel whispers. “It’s not malice in her voice, Dean, it’s joy.” He loosens his grip, giving Dean’s back a gentle rub. It’s probably meant to be comforting, but it’s kind of making Dean wish that Castiel’s hands were all over him. He leads Castiel to a table near some people he doesn’t recognize, trying to ignore all the eyes on him. Fucking Jo.

As soon as they sit down, Jo comes shuffling up with a couple of menus, looking sheepish. “Sorry, Dean. That seemed a lot funnier in my head.”

“I feel like a bug under a microscope,” Dean grumbles.

“Come on, it’s fine.”

“Everyone is _looking at me,_ Jo.”

“What? No, no one’s…” Jo trails off, glancing around. “Hey! Eyes on your own tables, folks! It’s _Dean,_ not the damn president!”

Dean buries his face in his hands.

“Come on,” Jo says, setting their menus on the table. “Introduce me to your hot friend.”

Castiel’s eyebrows are practically in his hairline, but he smiles up at Jo. “I’m Castiel, I’m fairly new to the area,” he says, holding out his hand, “pleased to meet you.” Dean could have _sworn_ Castiel told him he was bad with people.

Jo shakes Castiel’s hand, startled. “Holy shit, you’re polite. How’d you end up friends with _Dean_?”

“Jo!” Dean barks.

“Sheesh, you’re touchy these days. I’ll give you a few minutes,” Jo says, tapping the menus.

As soon as Jo is gone Dean groans, burying his face in his arms on the table. A moment passes, and then gentle fingers are carding through Dean’s hair.

“I’m such an asshole,” Dean mutters into his arms.

“Yes,” Castiel agrees, “why is that?”

“I don’t _know,_ Cas.”

“I could hazard a guess.”

“I just bet you fucking could.”

The hand in Dean’s hair clenches, gripping the strands tight, and God help him, Dean’s a little turned on. Castiel sighs, and the fingers go gentle again.

“You’re being unkind,” Castiel says sadly, “please stop. I’m only trying to help.”

Dean lifts his head slightly, feeling his gut twist at the forlorn look on Castiel’s face. It looks so much like his expression that day Dean snapped at him in the general store, and he can’t believe he caused it again. He grabs the hand in his hair with both hands, locking eyes with Castiel.

“Please don’t go. I’m sorry. This is hard, really hard for me. It shouldn’t be, but it is.”

“You wanted to come here.”

“I know. I thought… I’ll try harder, Cas. Don’t leave.”

Castiel smiles a little, reaching for his menu with his free hand. “I’m not leaving, Dean. It would take me _hours_ to walk back to the inn.”

  
  


*

  
  


People still glance at Dean while he and Castiel have their meal, but no one approaches their table until they’ve started in on their dessert; two generous slices of warm cherry pie. Dean’s moaning his way through his slice when he hears a _horrifyingly_ familiar voice.

“Perhaps you and that slice of pie ought to get a room, darling.”

“Bela,” Dean croaks, setting his fork down. She looks gorgeous, but that’s no surprise. “What are you doing here?”

“Looking after my mother. My father passed away about a week ago.”

“Oh wow, sorry to hear that.”

Bela shrugs, but that’s to be expected. She hated her father. “The years have done you wonders, Dean Winchester. We should get together, catch up. Are you free?”

“Uh… no, I’m hanging out with Cas here.”

Bela glances briefly at Castiel before turning her attention back to Dean. “Perhaps I’ll pop by your shop, then.”

“Store’s closed till Monday.”

“That’s fine, I’ll be in town a while.” Bela pats Dean on the cheek and then she’s sauntering out of the restaurant. Dean doesn’t at all know how to process this. He didn’t expect to see Bela… well, _ever._

“So,” Castiel says, and Dean’s surprised to see him outright scowling, “that’s the woman who broke your heart.”

Dean glares. “Okay first of all, _plenty_ of people have broken my heart, and second of all… yeah. That’s her. Not the first heartbreak, not the last, but definitely the worst.”

“Wow,” Castiel mutters, looking in the direction Bela left, “you must have loved her a great deal.”

“What? _No,_ it was the worst heartbreak because she left me in the lurch, and I was all alone for the first time. It fucking sucked.”

“She seemed interested in reconnecting, are you—”

“You’re _joking,_ right?”

“She’s very beautiful.”

“Yeah, well so are you,” Dean snaps.

Castiel’s face scrunches up in confusion. “You’re complimenting me, but your tone makes it sound as though you mean to be insulting.”

“Coming here has me off kilter, okay?!”

“Do you want to go?”

“Kind of,” Dean says, eating a forkful of pie.

“Do you really think I’m beautiful?”

Dean glares, pointing at Castiel with his fork. “I can’t do this with you right now.”

Castiel smirks.

“ _Anyway,_ ” Dean says, “no, I have no interest in reconnecting with the woman that ditched me for another guy and left me alone and nearly broke in a new city.”

“Thank _God,_ ” someone says behind him. Dean turns to see who spoke, cursing under his breath when he sees Bobby and Charlie at the table behind his.

“You two on a date?” Dean says.

“Bradbury’s got a bit too much pep for me, thanks,” Bobby says.

“Aww, come on, Bobby! Be my rebound.”

“No thanks, you’d probably make me play Dungeons and Daggers.”

“Dungeons and _Dragons,_ Bobby. We’ve been over this.”

“Okay you guys,” Dean interrupts, “you have your lovers’ quarrel, I’m going to turn back to my table.”

Charlie gives him a thumbs up and Dean turns back to face a smiling Castiel.

“Friends?” Castiel says quietly.

“Yeah. Bobby is kind of like my uncle, and Charlie is… _was_ my middle school girlfriend.”

“Was it an amicable split?”

“No, Cas, no it was not,” Dean says, trying to sound woeful. “I liked Charlie a _lot._ She was cute, and funny, and she let me have her Star Wars pencil case, so I knew we’d be together for the rest of our lives.”

“I _loaned_ you my pencil case,” Charlie says from behind him.

Dean turns in his seat slightly. “Eavesdropping is really rude. _Anyway,_ ” he says, turning back to Castiel, “so Charlie and I were super duper in love. And then my brother spotted her _making out_ with Garth Fitzgerald at the town Easter egg hunt.”

Charlie groans. “You know I’m a _lesbian_ now, ri—”

Dean holds a hand up to interrupt. “I was crushed, Cas. Crushed. I didn’t talk to her for over a year. It took that long for my spirit to recover. My heart still aches when I watch A New Hope.”

“I want that pencil case back,” Charlie says from behind him.

“I threw it away along with my dreams for our future.”

“You’re a damn liar.”

“ _Private conversation,_ Bradbury.” Dean hears Charlie scoff behind him, and then Castiel leans forward.

“Do you still have that pencil case?” he whispers.

“Had it for just about twenty years,” Dean whispers back, smiling.

“Carrying a torch after all these years?” Castiel says, voice back at a normal volume.

“Charlie and I never would have lasted.”

“Because she’s a lesbian?”

“Well _that,_ and because she thought Star Trek was better than Star Wars. We had a big fight about it. It’s how she ended up in the arms of _Garth_.”

“I’ve never understood why people insist on comparing these two franchises. I once watched my brother argue for _forty minutes_ with a coworker about this topic. Wouldn’t it make more sense to compare franchises with similar stories?”

“ _Thank you,_ ” Bobby says loudly. He and Charlie come over to their table, peering at Dean and Castiel with interest. Bobby holds a hand out. “Bobby Singer, I run the repair shop up the street.” Castiel shakes Bobby’s hand. “This is my… employee. What exactly do you _do,_ anyway?”

Charlie grins. “Charlie Bradbury, mechanic, receptionist, electrician, computer repairwoman, dungeon master, and former trophy girlfriend of Dean Winchester!” She does the Vulcan salute, grin increasing in size when Castiel returns the gesture.

“I’m Castiel. I’m new to the area.”

“Cas here is staying over at the inn,” Dean says. “He’s on the run from the law.”

“You’re _kidding,_ ” Charlie says.

Castiel shakes his head emphatically. “ _Yes,_ he is kidding. The only things I’m on the run from are overbearing parents and a boring HR job.”

Charlie taps her chin thoughtfully. “There’s more to it than that though, right? You’ve got this… look in your eyes,” Charlie says, making a vague gesture at Castiel’s face.

“Jesus, Charlie,” Dean sighs, “you _just_ met him.”

“There might also be a… uh… man that was perhaps living in the same building as me… that I was maybe anxious to get away from.”

“You didn’t tell me you had a _boyfriend_.”

“Ex. _Ex-_ boyfriend.”

“Dude, you told me you left because you hated your job!”

“I believe I said I was unhappy with my life… Bartholomew was part of that life. One of the parts I hated.”

“You dated a guy named _Bartholomew._ ”

“I don’t think his name really—”

“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me about this.”

“Jesus, Dean, are you _jealous_?” Charlie says. God, Dean forgot she was there.

“ _Okay,_ ” Bobby says, “I think Charlie and I have to get going.”

“Aw, come on Bobby, I was just—” Charlie squeaks as Bobby physically drags her over to an unoccupied pool table. Dean narrows his eyes at Charlie when she gives a final wave, then he looks down at his mostly eaten pie.

“They seemed nice,” Castiel says. Oh good, they’re not going to talk about what Charlie said.

“They are… lotta good people here.”

“I can tell you love them a great deal beneath your aura of… surliness.”

“Surly is my middle name.”

“Is it, now.”

“Nah, it’s Michael.”

“Michael? That’s my eldest brother’s name.”

“Yeah? Is he as cool as me?”

“Michael is…” Castiel purses his lips, staring off into space for a moment. Dean wants to kiss those lips. They’re really nice lips. “Efficient,” Castiel finally says.

“ _Efficient_?”

“Yes, I would say Michael is very efficient.”

“Okay… so, how do you describe your other brothers and sisters?”

“Hmm… Gabriel is chaotic, Hannah is patient, Samandriel is gentle, and Hael is clever.”

“Wow… I’m learning so much about you.”

“I’m learning a lot about you as well. I know your middle name, and I’ve already met two of your ex-girlfriends.”

“Three.”

“Three?”

Dean points over to where Jo is wiping down a booth. “Three.” At Castiel’s raised eyebrow, Dean adds, “this ain’t a thriving metropolis, man, dating pool wasn’t exactly huge growing up.”

“I see. Did things with Jo end better than things with Charlie and Bela?

“Uh… kind of. I wasn’t that into her, she wasn’t that into me… then she was into my brother, so we broke up. No hard feelings.”

“Your _brother._ ”

Dean shrugs. “Small dating pool.”

“Very interesting. Are Jo and your brother still together?”

“Nah, they kind of fizzled the same way. All of Jo’s relationships did until she figured out she was gay.”

Castiel chuckles. “Really.”

“Yeah, she’s had a long distance thing going on with this bartender in Portland for years. Pamela, I think. Met her once, she was pretty cool.”

Castiel has this happy look on his face, and Dean doesn’t get it. “What are you smiling about?”

“You brighten up so much when you talk about your loved ones. It’s nice.”

Dean glares, feeling his cheeks heat up. “Shut up and finish your pie."

 

 


	12. (STILL Wednesday, September 30th)

The nice thing about The Roadhouse is that while it’s usually at least a little busy, it’s rarely crowded, especially when summer is over and the campers and road trippers have gone home. As a result, Ellen doesn’t really mind people loitering, as long as they aren’t disruptive or trying to scam too many free refills on their sodas.

Dean and Castiel have been here a few hours now. They moved to a booth after a while, and Castiel watched in amazement as Dean ate a second and third slice of pie. A couple of people have stopped by the table to say hi, surprised to see Dean around and curious about his new friend; Ellen, Andy, Garth, and now Sam.

“Castiel,” Sam says, sliding in next to Dean and grinning like the cat that got the canary, “I’ve heard _so_ much about you.”

“No you haven’t.” Dean looks at Castiel. “He hasn’t.”

“Is this your first time in The Roadhouse?”

Castiel nods. “I mostly keep to my room at the inn, but Dean thought it would be nice to bring me here.”

“Is that so?” Sam grins even wider, unaware that Dean is carefully plotting his death. “What do you think of it?”

“It’s very charming, and the people are quite friendly.”

“Yeah, it’s great here,” Sam says. “This and the community center are where to go if you’re feeling social.”

“Sam’s the number-calling-guy on bingo night,” Dean says, rolling his eyes.

“Bingo night is _fun,_ ” Sam says, sounding offended. “You should come sometime, Castiel. Usually it’s every other Monday night at seven, and the community center is the big red building up the road. The prizes aren’t _great,_ but we have cookies.”

Castiel smiles. “That sounds like it could be fun, when is the next round?”

“This coming Monday. You should come, maybe you can get Dean to come with you.”

“Yeah right, I’d probably end up seated next to God damn Bela. Thanks for not warning me she was back, by the way,” Dean says, shoving Sam.

“What, _Bela-_ Bela? I heard she was in Oregon for her dad’s funeral, but I assumed she’d already left.”

“No, she was here a couple hours ago acting like we’re old buddies and asking if I wanted to _get together_.”

“God, please don’t get back together with Bela and move to Portland and have angry, snobby babies with her.”

Dean grimaces. “I would not have _snobby_ babies.”

“Surly and defensive babies, then?” Castiel offers.

“Well that was rude,” Dean says, “I am _clearly_ having a bad influence on your personality.”

Castiel blushes, holding up the bottle of beer he’s been nursing for the past ten minutes. “I apologize, I’ve been told that I am ‘mouthy’ when I get a buzz going.”

“Honesty,” Sam says, “I like it. The babies won’t just be surly and defensive, though. They’ll be caring, and really fucking stubborn, and artistic, and loyal.”

“Artistic?” Castiel says with interest.

“Dean’s pretty artistic. He made that mausoleum that’s in the store behind the counter.”

Castiel’s eyes are wide as he looks at Dean. “Really?”

“I don’t know if that’s _artistic,_ ” Dean says, uncomfortable. “It’s just a thing that houses the urn containing my parents.”

“I’m sorry, are they _both_ in one urn? That’s um… unusual.”

“It’s _weird,_ right?!” Sam exclaims, nearly hitting Dean in the face as he makes an emphatic gesture with his hand. “Dean did it when he was drunk, and then wouldn’t fix it.”

“Wouldn’t fix— they’re ashes! How am I supposed to fix that?”

“You could have split them into two urns again!”

“It’s not like I could separate Mom and Dad, Sam! They’re _ashes,_ and I shook the damn urn!”

Castiel chokes on his beer slightly and Sam snorts, passing him a napkin. “My apologies,” Castiel says, “that’s just a bit… dark. Sam’s right though, Dean. That mausoleum is beautiful, and well crafted. You clearly have artistic talent.”

“Bah,” Dean says, “maybe.”

“He draws too,” Sam says.

“Not really. I mean I used to do sketches when I was younger, but I don’t draw much anymore.”

“Well _that’s_ a lie. I saw your sketch book when I helped you unpack, you had a bunch of cool cop drawings, and they looked pretty recent.”

“Well _that’s_ invasive. Next time I’m at your place maybe I’ll go read your diary.”

“It’s a _journal,_ not a diary.”

“Yeah well it wasn’t _cop art_.”

“Sure it was.”

“Former sheriffs, actually.”

“Oh! Is it _fan art_ for that book series you love?”

Castiel makes an odd, squeaking sound, and when Dean looks over at him Castiel is turning a little red again.

“Dude?” Dean says, wondering if he should take away Castiel’s beer.

“Ah… yes. Sorry. Uh. Beer,” Castiel mutters, staring at his bottle.

Uh, okay then. Weird. Dean looks back at Sam. “There’s nothing wrong with drawing fan art.”

“I didn’t say there was! I thought the drawings were good, geeze.”

“I’d love to see them,” Castiel says.

Dean grins. “Yeah? Well… uh, maybe. Some day. Not sure where that notebook is right now.”

“Probably in the study,” Sam says.

“ _Thank you,_ Sam.”

“There’s no need to be embarrassed,” Castiel says earnestly. “As you said, there’s nothing wrong with fan art. People draw inspiration from many, many things.”

“I guess.”

“Don’t be _shy,_ Dean,” Sam says, nudging Dean with his elbow.

“God, I hate you.”

“And after I said all those nice things about you. Anyway, you should show Castiel the drawings if he wants to see them. They’re good, Dean.”

“This conversation is making me uncomfortable, Sam,” Dean says, and he can almost _hear_ Sam’s eyes roll.

“Right, sometimes I forget you’re allergic to praise.” Sam stands, gesturing at Dean. “Your art is terrible, your clothes are ugly, and you smell like french fries,” he says, and walks over to the bar, throwing one last smirk Dean’s way.

“So,” Dean says, “that’s Sammy.”

“There’s a great deal of love between you two, it’s heart warming.”

“Don’t get all gushy, Cas.”

“What can I say, my family dynamic was not exactly soft and cuddly, it’s nice to see one that is.”

“We’re not _soft and cuddly._ ”

“Regardless, I am glad to have been able to see this side of you.”

“The side that bitches at his friends and family?”

“Yes.”

  
  


*

  
  


They spend another hour at The Roadhouse before Dean abruptly hits his limit for interacting with other people. He leans over the table toward Castiel, who’s just finished his fourth beer and is adorably tipsy. Dean’s a little jealous. He wants a beer, but not enough to want to have to worry about arranging a ride home.

“Hey, uh… is it cool if we go?” Dean says. “We’ve been here a long time, and I’m feeling kind of… I mean we _can_ stay, it’s just… it’s after ten, and…”

Castiel nods solemnly, a slight flush to his cheeks. “Say no more, of course we can go. I hope this won’t sound patronizing, but you did very well today, Dean.”

Dean can feel himself blushing, and he avoids looking Castiel in the eye. “No chick flick moments, man.”

  
  


*

  
  


“You didn’t have to help me to my door, Dean,” Castiel mumbles. “I was fine.”

“Uh huh. Who was it that walked right into a wall when we were leaving The Roadhouse?”

“I was just getting my sea legs.”

“Right.”

“It is possible that my tolerance is a bit on the low side. My alcohol consumption is generally just the occasional glass of wine at dinner or social functions.”

They’re in Castiel’s room at the inn. Castiel is on his back in the room’s queen-sized bed, grinning up at the ceiling while Dean unties his shoes for him.

“In the future,” Dean says, smiling when he realizes Castiel is wearing the pink socks again, “just because Ellen and Jo are offering you free beers, doesn’t mean you have to take them.”

“I didn’t want to refuse their hospitality. They seemed excited that you had a friend.” Castiel frowns over in Dean’s direction. “That came out wrong.”

Dean pulls Castiel’s other shoe off and pats his calf. “You’re not wrong, kiddo.”

“Well, I’m excited you made me too. Made friends to me.” Castiel snorts. “You know what I mean.”

Dean rolls his eyes. “Yeah, me too.”

“I like it here. Not the _inn,_ because the inn is very expensive, and the MacLeod men have very loud arguments, but the area. The people are so nice. Even you and Crowley. And I can get so much writing done! I got two months worth of writing done in two weeks! My publisher’s going to be excited, I’ll have this done so much faster than the others.”

“Publisher? So you’re like a professional writer?”

Castiel’s eyes widen. “Dean! That was a _secret_!”

Dean crouches next to where Castiel is sprawled out on the bed. “Yeah? Any other secrets you wanna spill, you damn lush? What do you write?”

“Ah, ah, ah!” Castiel says, wagging a finger in Dean’s face. “Not gonna say.”

“Aw, shucks.”

“Maybe…” Castiel pokes Dean’s lips, and Dean fights the urge to lick his finger. “Maybe if you’re a really good boy, Dean, I’ll let you read it when it’s done.”

“Guess I’ll have to be a good boy then, won’t I?”

“Good _luck,_ ” Castiel says, giggling. It sounds kind of weird with his voice, but it’s adorable anyway.

Dean grins, reaching out to ruffle Castiel’s hair. “You’re a real fucking lightweight, you know that?”

“Should’a seen me in my college years. Beer pong champ right here.”

“Really?”

Castiel chuckles. “I went a little wild with the freedom I felt living away from my family for the first time. I partied, drank, smoked pot, had a blast. But then my parents got wind, and they were paying for my education.” Castiel pouts. “They put the kibosh on all my fun college times.”

“Aww, poor guy.” Dean fetches a glass of water for Castiel. He pulls him to sit up so he can drink it, then helps him get under the blanket on the bed.

“I feel like I’m being tucked in,” Castiel says.

“Next comes the bedtime story!”

Castiel grins sleepily. “I like you, you’re funny.”

“Yeah well… I like you too,” Dean says, looking away. When he glances back, Castiel’s eyes are closed. “Cas?” No response. Wow, that was lightning fast. Dean indulges himself for a few minutes, watching Castiel's slack face and slightly parted lips. It doesn’t take long for him to start feeling like he’s being creepy, though, so he lets himself out of Castiel’s room and leaves the inn.

Crowley is just outside, smoking a cigarette and eyeing Dean with mild interest.

“Those are bad for you, you know,” Dean says.

Crowley lets out a sigh of disgust. “This coming from the boy I once caught smoking _marijuana_ in the woods.”

Dean flushes with embarrassment. Crowley had caught Dean, Charlie, Jo, and Benny smoking joints back when they were teenagers. In exchange for not ratting them out, Crowley had made them do manual labor for him at the inn for a damn week. They cleaned that place top to bottom, _and_ Crowley’s car, _and_ did a ton of yard maintenance for the property.

Sam had thought it was fucking hysterical.

“I’m just saying… my dad was a heavy smoker, and you’re almost his age.”

Crowley grunts in irritation before putting the cigarette out on the wall and stuffing it in his coat pocket. “Are you just here to ruin my night, or what?”

“Dropping off a drunk friend.”

“Ah, Novak. Everything I want in a tenant; long term, wealthy, and quiet.”

“Don’t get a lot of those?”

“Nah, we get weekenders, and couples taking a week away from the kids hoping to recapture the bloody magic of their relationship. _Noisily_.”

“You must love it since you enjoy being around people _so much_.”

Crowley gives Dean a look that could curdle milk. “Coming from you, that’s rich.”

“Guess you hate everyone except _Cain,_ right?” Dean says, leering.

“Well of course not C—” Crowley glares. “Who told you?”

Dean smirks. “Cas did. Mentioned your _beau_ extended an invitation for him to join your bed,” he says, waggling his eyebrows.

“That horny fuck needs to run this kind of shit by me. Although…” Crowley glances back toward the inn. “Can’t say he made a poor choice. _Incredible_ ass your friend has.”

“ _Watch it,_ Crowley,” Dean hisses.

Crowley looks surprised, then delighted by Dean’s reaction. He grins, leaning closer. “Someone has a bit of a crush, does he?”

“No, shut the fuck up.”

“Oh come on now, don’t be coy. Everyone knows about you and the ranger…”

Dean groans. “Fuck, I hate you.” The nice thing about Crowley is that Dean can be as rude as he feels like and it isn’t going to hurt Crowley’s feelings.

“Personally, I’m all for it. We’ve been a bit worried you’d go running off with the lovely Ms. Talbot again, now that she’s back.”

“First of all, that’s not going to happen. Second of all, who the fuck is _we_?”

“Myself, and my paramour.”

“Why are you and Cain talking about me?”

Crowley shrugs. “Pillow talk.”

Dean buries his face in his hands, letting out a moan of anguish. “Why are you and Cain talking about me in _bed_?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“Actually, no. I’m going home, I have cats to feed.”

“Suit yourself,” Crowley says, pulling a pack of cigarettes out of his coat.

Dean snatches the pack out of Crowley’s hand, stuffing it in the pocket of his leather jacket.

“Hey!” Crowley barks.

“I told you these are bad for you,” Dean snaps, marching down the pathway.

“This is just bad manners!” Crowley yells.

Dean keeps walking to his car, smirking to himself when he hears the door to the inn slam closed.

  
  


 


	13. (Thursday, October 1st)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for a brief mention of past physical abuse?

“Hello?”

“Heyyy,” Sam’s cheerful voice greets Dean through his phone, “how’s the vacation going?”

“How’s— you _just_ saw me twelve hours ago.”

“Nah, more like fifteen.”

“You want something from me, don’t you.”

“I want something _for_ you.”

“What does that even mean?”

“I wanna be your weekend guy!”

“You… want me to hire you? You have a job, Sam. You have _three_ jobs. One of them is on the weekend.”

“You can take my job at the inn! You’ll show up for a few hours on Saturdays, and still have most of the weekend free!”

“Dude, you’ll be working every single day if you took Saturdays and Sundays at the store. That’s _just_ what you’re wanting me to stop doing.”

“This is totally different, Dean!”

“How?”

“For one, I’m not a shifty loner…”

“I’m hanging up.”

“For another, this would be temporary. We’ll find someone else to be the permanent weekend person. It’s not the same as you working alone in the store every day for a damn year, I _have_ a life.”

“I’m _hanging up_.”

You know what? Nope. We’re doing this. I’m going to talk to Crowley on Saturday about you taking over.”

“Sam, you can’t just decide to hire yourself at my store and expect me to—”

“Well, my lunch break’s almost over, I gotta go.”

“Sam.”

“Talk to you later!”

“ _Sam!_ ”

Sam of course ends the call, so Dean calls him back and leaves an obscenity laced voicemail before he storms into his kitchen to make something to eat.

  
  


*

  
  


Dean spends his Thursday afternoon reading Red Sky at Morning, book three in the Sheriffs Hunting Evil series. This one has Jody and Donna investigating people who claimed to see a ghost ship in the days before their deaths. It's corny, but fun, though there's a character in the book that's always painfully reminded Dean of Bela.

By the time he finishes the book, it’s after four o’clock. The sun will be going down in a few hours, and Dean gets it in his head that he wants to go for a walk. He gets dressed, laces up his boots, and heads outside. It’s a little cool out, but Dean knows he’ll be warm once he’s been walking for a few minutes.

He walks up the long driveway, smiling a little as he takes in a few lungfuls of cool, autumn air. When he reaches the end of the drive he pauses, looking left to right, trying to decide which direction to go in. Usually he goes left, since that’s the direction of the store, but he’s not going to the store today. He’s just about decided to go right when he spies a figure coming up the road from the left. The figure waves enthusiastically at him, and Dean feels a wild flip in his stomach. When they reach each other, Dean and Castiel both stand on the road, grinning. Dean has an urge to hug Castiel, even though he just saw the guy last night.

“Hello, Dean.”

“Heya, Cas. What brings you to my neck of the woods?”

“I was writing, and realized I disliked the direction I’d gone in with my story, I ended up deleting several days’ worth of writing.”

“Yikes. I’m sorry, Cas.”

Castiel shakes his head. “It’s fine, all part of the process. But when I run into a setback like that, I find it’s best for me if I stop for the day.”

“Probably a good call. So, you still gonna let me read the finished product if I’m a _good boy,_ ” Dean says, leering.

“If… wha…” Castiel’s jaw drops comically, a blush rapidly staining his cheeks. “I forgot about that.”

Dean smirks. “I didn’t.”

“In any case, yes, I expect you’ll read it sooner or later.”

Dean hopes it’s sooner. He’s dying to know what kind of stuff Castiel writes. “Well, I can’t wait to see whatever it is.”

“I hope you… I hope you’ll enjoy it,” Castiel says, suddenly looking troubled.

“Hey, I’m sure I will. I bet it’s better than anything I’ve written.”

“You write?”

“Barely. Just a few pieces of SHE fan fiction.”

“SHE?”

“Yeah, Sheriffs Hunting Evil.”

“Y-you’ve… written fan fiction for that series?”

Dean can’t believe he just casually shared that. He never tells anyone about all his fanboy shit, not even Charlie, and now Castiel knows about his tattoo, his fan art, and now this too.

“I mean it was years ago, just posted a couple of stories online… cases for Jody and Donna.” Dean stares down at his feet. “They weren’t very long or anything, and it was ages ago, like I said. I don’t even remember where I posted them. It’s dumb.”

“I don’t think there’s anything dumb about finding inspiration in something and expressing that in a creative way,” Castiel says sincerely. “Many authors are flattered by the existence of fanworks.”

“If you say so. Still embarrassed about it though, so don’t tell anyone.”

Castiel chuckles. “Dean, you’re my only friend in the area.”

“Well if you stay long enough, that’ll probably change.”

“I won’t tell your deep, dark secret, Dean. And if it makes you feel any better, I once wrote a seventy thousand word piece of Lord of the Rings fan fiction.”

“Yeah? But were you _thirty_ when you wrote it?”

“No. I was seventeen.”

“Okay that doesn’t make me feel better.”

“It was also terrible. Really terrible, Dean. No one but me read it, because I deleted it after I read through it and got a sense of everything I’d done wrong with it.”

“Okay… that helps a _little_.” Dean looks around, realizing they’re still just standing around on Swift Road. “So, uh… I was going to go for a walk, but since you’re here, why don’t I show you another of my favorite spots?”

Castiel smiles and nods enthusiastically.

  
  


*

  
  


They go to Dean’s house and hop in the Impala, and by a quarter to five they’re pulling over next to a trailhead about two miles from Hazelnut Valley. There are two flashlights in Dean’s glove compartment and he grabs the smaller of the two, gesturing at Castiel with it.

“Just in case it gets dark.”

“Perhaps with the light you won’t trip over anything this time,” Castiel says, giving Dean a gentle nudge.

They walk in companionable silence for about fifteen minutes before they reach a fork in the trail.

“Left or right?” Castiel says.

“Neither, actually.” Dean makes a hard right off the trail entirely, crunching through pinecones, fallen branches, dead leaves, and all the other messiness found on the forest floor.

There’s no real trail to speak of in this direction, but Dean knows the way. “I haven’t been out here in eons,” he says after a minute or two, “since before I left with Bela. I liked it out here, but it’s off the beaten path, literally, and I always hated thinking that if something happened to me while I was out here alone, no one would think to look for me out this way.”

Dean glances at Castiel, chuckling at the disconcerted look on his face. “We’re _fine,_ don’t worry.”

“We’d better be, I don’t want to die with my book incomplete.”

“And I don’t want to die a virgin.”

Castiel stumbles. “You’re a virgin?”

Dean bursts into laughter, startling a squirrel clinging to a nearby tree. “Do I look like a virgin?”

“How in the world can someone _look_ like a vir—”

“We’re here!” The spot is just as Dean remembered. The dense trees give way to a beautiful clearing. It’s an almost perfect circle, and aside from the long dead fallen tree near the center, there’s nothing but dirt, grass, and a few wilted wildflowers in it.

“It’s a little nicer to look at in the spring,” Dean says.

“I like it,” Castiel says, smiling. “There’s a stillness here, compared to the messy chaos of the rest of the forest. Do all of your favored spots have fallen trees in them?”

“Large dead trees, boulders… any spot is more appealing when there’s somewhere for me to sit.”

“How did you discover this particular spot? Wandering off the trail at random?”

Dean sits on the tree. There’s a bit of give, but it doesn’t cave in under his weight or anything. “I was uh… trying to catch a deer. It’s not a very good story.”

“You were _chasing_ a deer?” Castiel sits next to Dean, and no one but Dean needs to know that it makes his heart beat a little faster.

“I was sixteen and stoned off my ass, I’m lucky I didn’t fall in a hole or get eaten or some shit.”

“Did you catch the deer?”

“Not even close. But I found a great spot to get high and watch clouds.”

“It really is lovely,” Castiel says, looking around. “There are parks and such where I grew up, of course, but nothing like this. They’re full of people walking their dogs, and joggers, and trash, and the city and all its noise and pollution is still _right_ there.”

“Rural life seems to agree with you so far.” They’re not sitting all that close, but Dean finds himself tingling with nervous energy.

“Oh, yes. Obviously it’s lacking convenience, and I do get a bit lonely, but… well I was a bit lonely in Los Angeles too. And I love that I can just… be. I can meditate, and there are no noisy neighbors other than Crowley and his son, no smog filling my lungs on overcast days. I can write, and it’s not me cramming to do a few hundred words before bed or during my lunch break. I’m not worrying about my parents finding out and being disappointed. And from what I’ve seen so far, the people here are kind and welcoming.”

“Yeah, they’re…” Dean finds himself trailing off as he takes in the look in Castiel’s eyes. He almost looks like he wants to kiss Dean. Dean wants to lean in, wants to feel those lips against his, but in the face of this moment he’s scared. Maybe he’s misinterpreting.

It’s so easy to let the fear in.

He clears his throat awkwardly, shattering the moment to escape the tension. “So, um… do you think you’ll uh… settle? In the area?”

Castiel smiles, something small and beautiful. Dean should have kissed him. “Oh, yes. I’d very much like to. Purchasing a home is quite a commitment though, I can’t decide whether I want to do that, or look for a rental.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes. I really like it here.”

It’s not a promise to stay forever, but it’s something. “Well… good. I mean, it’s a great place, and uh… I kinda like having you around.”

“Well aren’t you sweet.”

“Shaddup.”

They chat for a long while, somehow ending up on the ground, leaning against the tree for support. Castiel talks vaguely about the progress of the story he’s writing, and his worries that he’s gotten complacent with his writing. Dean wants to reassure him, but without reading anything Castiel’s written, there’s not much Dean can offer. The conversation reaches a natural conclusion, and Dean takes a moment to relax against the fallen tree, letting his eyes fall closed and listening to the sounds of the forest.

  
  


*

  
  


“Dean.”

“ _Dean._ ”

“Dean, please wake up.”

Dean’s eyes pop open, and for a moment he panics. He can’t see anything, he’s blind, holy shit he’s—

“We fell asleep,” Castiel says next to him, and Dean realizes he can see stars in the sky. Okay, so… not blind. Just in the woods at night.

“Jesus, what time is it?”

“I have no idea. I don’t have a watch. Or a phone.”

Dean pulls his own phone out of his pocket, grimacing when he sees the time. Approaching midnight. They’ve been laying out in the woods for _hours._

“Oh dear,” Castiel says, “I suppose we’re fortunate nothing came along and ate us.”

“I’m sure I would have woken up for that.”

Dean takes his flashlight out of his pocket, wishing he’d grabbed the larger one. He was expecting to maybe need a bit of light at sunset, not to be stumbling his way through the dark forest. He switches the light on, feeling a bit guilty when he sees just how freaked out Castiel looks.

“Sorry man,” Dean says as they climb to their feet. “I wasn’t expecting to just _pass out_ for six hours in the middle of the day.”

“It’s fine, it’s just…”

“Spooky?”

“Well, yes.”

“Would you feel better if we held hands?” Dean jokes.

“Yes,” Castiel says immediately, grabbing Dean’s left hand. Okay. Okay, they’re holding hands. Cool. “Do you know your way out of here in the dark?”

“Uh… well I know which direction to go… we’ll hit the trail eventually, and follow it back to the highway.” Where Dean’s car has been sitting for _six hours_ , probably getting ransacked by thieves or raccoons or something. Castiel nods, and they start toward the tree line. They make it maybe twenty steps before the flashlight flickers twice and then goes out.

“Oh, come on!” Dean yells, shaking the flashlight. They stop walking. Castiel’s breaths are audibly faster, and he’s holding Dean’s hand so damn tight. “Dude, it’s okay, it’s fine. I know it seems terrifying because it’s all… dark and unknown, but I’m here, okay?”

“I’m so embarrassed.”

“Don’t be. I promise I don’t think any less of you,” Dean says. He pockets his flashlight and digs his phone out with his free hand. The flashlight app doesn’t make a _great_ light, but it’s better than nothing.

As much as Dean would like to rush out of these damn woods, he can’t see enough. Walking fast would not be smart. They make their way slowly in what is _hopefully_ the right direction, every snap and crunch from their footsteps doing an awesome job at freaking Dean the fuck out.

“You’re breathing hard,” Castiel says softly, “you’re frightened.”

“Shut up. I’m a strong, brave woodsman.”

“So you’re breathing heavily from our _brisk_ pace, then,” Castiel says as they inch their way through the forest.

“You’re an ass.”

“It’s not as though you’re alone in being afraid.”

“I’m supposed to be the experienced one, here.”

“I don’t think your familiarity with the area grants you the ability to see in the dark.”

“I can _see_ ,” Dean grumbles, nearly tripping over what he thinks is a tree root. “Sort of. And I’m not afraid. The woods are just… dark, and it’s getting to my head.”

“Getting to your head and making you feel…”

“ _Fine,_ ” Dean hisses, “I’m afraid. It’s dark, and creepy, and honestly I’m not even sure we’re going the right way because everything looks different at night, and my phone has no signal because that would be _too easy, wouldn’t it_?!”

Castiel stops walking, and Dean tugs on his hand, impatient.

“Dude, come on. I’m scared, you’re scared, this app is sucking the life out of my battery, no stopping.”

“I just… I think I know what might help.”

Dean turns to face Castiel, letting go of his hand. “Alright. What?”

Castiel steps closer… much, much closer. This close, his face is lit by the glow of Dean’s phone, but Dean has no idea what to make of his expression. The anxious fear thrumming through Dean’s body slowly fades, replaced by anticipation, disbelief. Is he really going to…

Castiel leans forward, pressing his lips against Dean’s. The kiss is strong, chaste, and over before Dean can think to kiss back.

“Did it help?” Castiel whispers in the small space between them.

“I, uh… I think so. A little. Might need something more.”

Dean catches a smirk before a cool hand is on his cheek, pulling him into another kiss. Castiel’s lips are dry but soft, gentle but firm. His thumb is lightly tracing the shell of Dean’s ear, the movement unhurried like his kisses. After a minute, the thumb trails down to Dean’s neck, pulling a faint shudder from him. His lips part on a gasp, and Castiel deepens the kiss. Dean groans, dropping his phone in favor of grabbing Castiel’s hips. Castiel makes this soft, delicious little growling sound, pressing up against Dean until Dean is staggering backwards, back colliding with a tree.

Maybe it’s because Dean’s gone so long without someone else’s tongue in his mouth, but right now this is feeling like his best kiss in eons. Castiel kisses with intensity, like it’s his sworn duty to completely destroy Dean through kisses alone. Dean doesn’t realize he’s been absently rocking his hips until a warm thigh works its way between his legs, giving him something to grind against. He throws his head back, head thunking against the moss covered bark of whatever tree he’s propped up against.

“Cas… fucking… _fuck_.”

“Eloquent,” Castiel mutters, trailing kisses along Dean’s jaw, down his neck. “I wish it were light out, I would love to see what you look like right now.”

“Yeah, I bet,” Dean groans.

There are teeth nipping at Dean’s neck and he hisses, twitching hard in his jeans. He goes for Castiel’s pants then, hands nervous and fumbling, but determined. A moment passes before Castiel’s hands are at Dean’s zipper as well, the sound of their panting the only thing Dean can hear.

“How do you feel, Dean?” Castiel says, hand snaking into Dean’s boxers, fingers just barely flirting with his cock.

“I feel… I feel like I really enjoy having your hand on my dick, Cas,” Dean replies, pulling Castiel closer. He pulls them both out of their opened pants and presses their cocks together.

“Oh…” Castiel shudders when Dean licks his hand and starts stroking them together. “Oh, that’s nice.”

“Yeah?” Dean moves his hand slow, relishing in the feel of Castiel’s skin against his. “I think so too. This was a good idea.”

“I’m a genius,” Castiel says, bringing their mouths close together. “I wish we were somewhere else. This is good, but I want… I want…”

“More?” Dean whispers, breathing harder as his strokes grow a little slicker with precome.

“More would be good, but I also like this. I want this, Dean. I want _you_.”

“Didn’t know you… oh, fuck…” Dean’s inching closer to his orgasm already.

“Well, now you know. I find you kind,” Castiel says, kissing Dean softly. “Generous.” Another kiss. “Passionate.” Another kiss, a bit longer this time. “Also very attractive.”

“Jesus, Cas.”

“I feel close, Dean, this is so good.”

Dean’s hips are jerking erratically when Castiel abruptly pushes up against him, moaning soft and broken in Dean’s ear. More wetness spreads onto Dean’s hand as Castiel mutters his name over and over, shuddering, panting. Hearing Castiel say his name like that, sounding so wrecked, well that’s about all Dean can take. He comes hard, stroking them both through their orgasms until he’s too sensitive to keep going. He’s glad Castiel came first, at least he doesn’t have to worry about feeling embarrassed over how _fast_ this went. They stand there for a minute or so, trading kisses, breathing still a little labored.

When Castiel pulls away to tuck himself back into his pants Dean reaches to wipe his hand on the dense moss on the tree behind him. They take a moment to make themselves as presentable as they can with nothing to clean themselves with and barely any light. Dean picks his still glowing phone up off the forest floor, wincing when he sees the ten percent battery life warning.

“I hope you know which direction we were going before we stopped,” Castiel says.

Dean crouches, shining his phone at the ground and grinning when he sees a few of their footprints in a damp patch of dirt. “Well, that’s where we were coming from,” he says, feeling like some sort of professional tracker instead of an asshole that happened to get lucky enough to find his own footprints, “so I say we keep heading in that direction. It can’t be that much further to the trail, we were only a handful of minutes off the path in the first place.”

“And if we _don’t_ come up on the trail?”

“Well… not to freak us _both_ out after that pretty awesome distraction, but… we might have to just stop walking and wait for light.” Dean starts walking, and Castiel follows. “Not a _great_ idea to wander in circles at night. Who knows where we’d end up by sunrise. If we stop and wait for light, I might be able to get us to the main trail, or at least get us back to the clearing and get going in the right direction.”

“Wise and grizzled mountain man,” Castiel says, taking Dean’s hand.

“Not quite. Bobby’s one, though, taught me a few things when I was a kid.” Dean’s phone shuts down and he curses, shoving it in his pocket. “Wish it was a full moon. You’d be surprised how much light you can get from a full moon out here.”

“I can’t see a damn thing.”

“Yeah,” Dean sighs, “this is pointless. I can barely see my own hand right in front of my face.”

Their steps are careful, and comically slow. They can’t see a fucking thing, so they have to be this slow if they don’t want to trip over a bunch of shit. Castiel is holding Dean’s hand tight, and Dean holds his other hand out in front of himself, trying to make sure he doesn’t lead them into a tree. Dean would like to believe he has good instincts about where they’re going, but the truth is he hasn’t really had to use any sort of nature-related instincts in a long-ass time. He’s about to suggest they give up and stop walking when he realizes the ground under his feet is flat. Like… really flat, no branches or bushes or lumpy mounds of dirt under his feet.

“Hold on,” he says, letting go of Castiel’s hand. He crouches, patting the ground around them. “Dude… I think this is the fucking trail!” He walks in a small circle, and it really does seem to be flat like the trail.

“Really?”

“Yeah! The ground is flat and even, holy shit.”

Castiel hugs Dean tight. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but I was pretty sure we were going to be out here all night.”

“Oh, ye of little faith,” Dean says, hugging back. “No, I’m kidding, I didn’t think we’d make it out either.”

They’re still just standing there hugging, Dean realizes. They should probably start leaving, but Dean’s already addicted to touching Castiel, it’s hard to want to break the hug.

Castiel tenses suddenly.

“Wha—”

“Shh,” Castiel whispers harshly. “I think I heard something.”

Dean feels a sick thrill of adrenaline run through him as he listens, staring out into the darkness. There’s a soft crunching sound, and Dean can’t tell if it’s close or far away. He thought a lack of one sense was supposed to enhance the others. What a bunch of bullshit.

“Something’s coming,” Castiel says, voice so light Dean almost can’t hear it.

Well, the orgasm was a nice break, but Dean’s back to being freaked the fuck out. He tries to put himself in front of Castiel, bracing himself in the face of the darkness. Unfortunately, Castiel is trying to do the same thing, so they’re mostly just grappling, trying to protectively get in front of one another while unsure of which way to face.

There’s a soft thumping sound, and it _sounds_ like human footsteps, but for all Dean knows it’s a fucking bear or something. Although… a bear probably wouldn’t be making a slow, near silent approach on an open path. There’s a jingling, scraping noise… metal? He’s finally sure of the direction, and he turns to face it, Castiel tense at his back. This has to be a person, just some psychopath wandering around in the dark, probably carrying a machete—

The person walks right into Dean.

Dean screams.

Castiel screams.

The person screams.

Dean cuts himself off, realizing he recognizes the scent of cloves and oranges. “SAM?!” Dean shrieks.

“Dean?! Jesus fucking _Christ_!” Sam’s voice has gone all high-pitched and hysterical. Suddenly there’s light, and sure enough it’s Dean’s God damn baby brother standing there, clutching a large flashlight in one hand, holding his car keys like a weapon in the other. Sam looks alarmed but relieved, and Dean is so, so glad to see him, a sentiment he expresses by angrily punching Sam in the arm.

“What the fuck are you doing, you scared the fucking shit out of us!”

“I scared _you_?!” Sam yells. “What the hell are you doing out here in the _dark_?! Why didn’t you answer your damn phone?!”

“My fucking phone and my flashlight are dead, what the fuck are _you_ doing out here in the dark?!”

“I was over at the damn inn! Crowley called me, freaking out about a blown fuse and offered me a hundred bucks to fix it right away. Then I noticed _your_ car just left by the damn trailhead in the middle of the night on my way home. I came to make sure you were okay.”

“Why weren’t you using your fucking flashlight?”

“I was worried your car got stolen or something, Dean! I didn’t want to alert any thieves to my presence.”

Dean sighs, he’s getting such a headache. “What the hell were you going to do if I was a car thief? Beat me with your flashlight and stick a key in my eye?”

Sam gets this confused look on his face, and Dean groans.

“Okay, so maybe I didn’t think any of this through,” Sam says. “Give me a break, Dean, it’s like one in the morning.”

“Well next time you think my car’s been stolen, you go wake up Benny or something, don’t go looking for trouble, fuck. God, let’s get the fuck out of here.” Dean’s never coming back to this fucking trail.

Sam nods, shining his flashlight onto the path so they can actually see where they’re going. Dean spares a moment to hope Sam hasn’t noticed the come stains that are probably on their clothes.

“You still didn’t tell me why you were out here with Castiel _lurking_ in the middle of the night.”

“I wanted to show Cas one of my favorite spots, it’s off the path. We got here hours ago, then fell asleep like idiots and woke up in the dark and had to find our way back with no light.”

“In the _dark._ That seems like a good way to get lost, Dean.”

“We made it, didn’t we? Besides, if we’d stayed out there, _you’d_ still be out wandering around by yourself like an ass,” Dean grumbles, hitting Sam over the back of the head.

“I was too busy convincing myself I was going to find your corpse to be _logical,_ sorry. And don’t act like you wouldn’t do the same thing if you found my car abandoned next to a dark and spooky trail.”

“ _Parked_ , not abandoned, and I would’ve fucking gone to get Benny.”

“I bet,” Sam says, elbowing Dean hard.

Dean shoves him. “No, we’re not joking about this secret ex-boyfriend shit.”

“Secret ex-boyfriend?” Castiel says.

“My high school boyfriend that I thought no one knew about, and recently discovered _everyone_ knows about.”

“Come on, it’s funny!” Sam insists.

“It’s _not_ funny, and if you keep bringing it up I’m going to tell you all about the awkward, painful, and _messy_ night he took my virginity.”

Dean can’t see Sam’s face, but he imagines it’s twisted in that scrunched up way it was the first time they found out what a deer carcass smells like after a week on the side of a hot highway.

When they reach the road, Sam reaches out to pat Dean on the shoulder. “Well, this was a fun and terrifying way to shave a few years off my life, but I am _beat,_ ” he says, climbing into his car. He starts it up, and Dean ambles over to the driver’s side, knocking on the window until it slides down.

“Thanks for trying to look out for me, Sammy,” Dean says.

Sam gives him a big dopey grin. “You’re my brother,” he says, like that’s all that needs to be said on the subject. Dean supposes it really is. “By the way, I talked to Crowley, he’ll be expecting you next week on Saturday for your first shift at the inn, ten to three. You have Dad’s toolbox, right?”

“What? Hold on, Sam.”

“Gotta go! Night, Dean!”

“ _Sam_.” But Sam is already speeding off down the highway, leaving Dean to glare at his taillights. “Dick,” Dean mutters, unlocking the Impala.

“You’re coming to work at the inn?” Castiel says, sounding a little pleased.

Dean groans as they climb into the car. “Sammy decided he’s gonna be my temporary weekend guy at the store, and apparently I’m going to take over his shift at the inn. He wants me to have time off, so he’s decided _he’s_ going to be the one working seven days a week.”

“You sound quite angry about that.”

“I think it’s a bit _rude_ for him to just go about rearranging my life without my permission, don’t you?”

“Well, yes… but I’m still glad he did it.”

“Whose side are you on?”

Castiel puts a hand on Dean’s shoulder, eyes earnest in the glow of the overhead light. “I am completely on your side, Dean, never doubt that. That’s why I am glad to hear you won’t be going back to being at the store seven days a week. You were so unhappy, I don’t want that for you.”

Dean sighs, starting up the Impala. “Well, he was still rude.”

“Of course, Dean.”

“So,” Dean says as he pulls the car onto the highway, “uh… did you have a good time? Being lost in the woods, standing around in the dark and screaming with me and my brother…”

“I enjoyed… some parts of the evening more than others,” Castiel says carefully.

Dean shudders a little, mind flashing back to Castiel panting in his ear, and the way Castiel’s voice cracked as he came. His hands tighten on the steering wheel.

“Yeah, uh… me too. Definitely enjoyed some uh… parts.”

Out of nowhere a weird, tense silence settles into the car, and stays there for the rest of the ride. Fortunately, or unfortunately, it’s not long before Dean is pulling into the parking lot for the inn.

“I’ll, um… talk to you soon, right?” Castiel says, voice strained.

“Of course, Cas… thanks for uh, for you know… being there.”

“Likewise.”

This is all wrong.

They _kissed._ They touched. They got come on the hem of Dean’s shirt. They shouldn’t be parting on this weird-ass goodbye, right?

“Thank you for showing me your spot in the woods, even if it didn’t go quite as planned.” Castiel opens the passenger door, and Dean’s hand acts without his permission, shooting out and grabbing Castiel’s wrist. Castiel looks back at Dean, and Dean looks down at his hand.

“Uh…” Dean says eloquently. He’s an adult, he’s a grown-ass adult, why is it so hard to say what he wants?

“Dean…” Castiel’s voice is gentle, _safe._ “Just get it out. Whatever it is, you’ll feel better.”

“Come home with me?” Dean says, so fast it practically comes out as one word. He hears a hitch in Castiel’s breath. “I was thinking uh… we didn’t really get to the post-coital cuddling part of… what we did, and uh… that’s kind of a shame, right?”

Castiel doesn’t move for a few seconds, just long enough for Dean to move his hand away. Then Castiel is pulling his door closed and buckling his seat belt.

“That sounds like a very good idea.”

  
  


*

  
  


Within half an hour, Dean is lying in his bed in his dimly lit room. There’s a cadre of hungry cats eagerly devouring their late dinner in the kitchen, and a man wrapped around Dean from behind, breathing slow and even into Dean’s hair.

“In bed and ready to sleep after such a long nap,” Castiel says softly, “how slothful.”

“You feel like being productive, then? You could flip on the porch light and rake up all the pine needles in front of my house. I’ll just stay here and be slothful.”

“Hmmm, no, I think I’ll sleep some more.”

“Not a fan of manual labor, huh?” Dean says, grinning to himself.

“Well, I had a desk job…”

“Long hours in the suits and ties didn’t leave time for yard work?”

“I didn’t have a yard.”

“Well, that’s no fun.”

“You don’t have a yard either.”

“I don’t have a _lawn,_ I still have a yard. All that empty space in front of my house is my yard!”

“Oh… I didn’t think of it that way. It’s very messy. Branches, and bushes, and pinecones everywhere.”

“It’s the forest, Cas. The forest is messy. Foliage, tree parts, mushrooms, rocks, bones…”

“ _Bones._ ”

“Oh yeah. Wander around these parts enough, you’re gonna find bones. Usually deer bones.”

“That sounds lovely.”

“Hey, most of it is. But you’ve gotta take the bad with the good, and sometimes the bad includes a smashed raccoon next to the highway.”

“Please stop, you’re making me hungry.”

“I once had a customer spend ten minutes telling me about the best way to prepare and cook a raccoon,” Dean says, grinning when he feels Castiel shudder at his back. “I didn’t eat for the rest of the day.”

“Is this what passes for pillow talk in the woods?”

“This is not great material, is it…”

“Your technique could use some refining.”

“Sorry, been awhile since I had anyone in my bed. Eons since it was a male someone in my bed.”

“Because you thought you were in the closet.”

“That, and… actually that’s not good pillow talk either.”

“So?”

“Alright… well, I dated this guy when I was living in Montana. Gordon. He was pretty cool, we bonded over shit like how much we both loved cars, action movies, and sucking cock.”

Castiel lets out a snort of laughter, and Dean continues.

“Gordon wasn’t out, though, so we mostly hung out at my apartment. Not a big deal for me, since I wasn’t exactly a social butterfly. We weren’t in _love_ or anything, so I didn’t really give a fuck if I was his dirty secret.”

“But that changed?”

“We were both going a little stir crazy one night, so we headed down to his favorite bar to play some pool. I whooped his ass, because I’m awesome, things got competitive, which got us… uh, excited.”

“Oh, you were _that_ kind of couple.”

“Shut up. Anyway, so yeah I was goading him, getting mouthy, getting him all riled up. It was fun, he was into it. He was  _really_ into it, actually, and he ended up kissing me. I was pretty fucking shocked. Like I said, he was in the closet, so we never did that shit in public. But hey, I love kissing, I was down for some kissing. But then not even a whole minute went by before he was pulling away, and looking at me all pissed off.”

“Ah… he remembered he was in the closet, then.”

“Yahtzee. So he called me a… crude and technically inaccurate slur, real loud. Loud enough that people were staring. Then he swore at me for kissing him, then he punched me in the face.”

“That’s _awful,_ Dean,” Castiel says, hugging Dean close.

“It was a pretty fucked up fight. I won. It would have been satisfying if you know… I hadn’t just gotten into a physical fight with a man that was more or less my boyfriend.”

“I’m so sorry, Dean.”

“It’s cool. Not my worst break up, really. But it made me a little twitchy about hooking up with guys. The next guy that showed interest after Gordon was still in the closet too, so I passed. Then after that it was a woman, then another woman. So anyway, it’s been a while.”

“Well if it puts you at ease, I’m not in the closet. Although…” Castiel sighs. “There _is_ something I haven’t told you.”

Dean rolls over to face Castiel, feeling a little ping of nervous energy zip through him when they make eye contact. “We haven’t known each other that long, Cas. You don’t owe me all your secrets. There’s _lots_ of stuff I don’t know yet. Like… how do you take your coffee?”

“I prefer tea.”

“Well, now we’re getting somewhere.”

“I was referring to something a bit more specific.”

“Are you married?”

“No.”

“Do you have chlamydia?”

“ _No_.”

“Have you ever killed someone in cold blood?”

“ _No,_ De— wait. Just in cold blood? Crimes of passion are okay?”

Dean shrugs. “I’m flexible.”

“Either way, no.”

“Do you want to _tell me_ your big secret?”

Castiel grimaces. “Not… not at the moment, no.”

“Well, you can tell me later, Cas.”

“Alright. Thank you, Dean,” Castiel says, fidgeting with one of Dean’s hands. “What about you?”

“What about me? No chlamydia, and my wife’s death was an accident, I swear.”

“Mhm, I bet you have ten murdered wives and a host of sexually transmitted diseases.”

“I had to stop killing after the syphilis made me blind.”

“I can’t believe we’re joking about you being some sort of black widow serial killer.”

“I wonder if I need therapy?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Someone out here really did once tell me how to cook a raccoon, and it was _not_ information I requested.


	14. (Friday, October 2nd)

It’s been a long time since Dean woke up tangled together with another person, let alone a person with a good sized erection pressed up against Dean’s thigh. Castiel is still asleep, snoring softly and drooling on Dean’s shirt a little. Dean lifts his head a bit, smiling at the sight of the scattered cats all snoozing on the bed with them. It’s crowded today.

It’s nice.

He stares off into space for a while, smiling and listening to Castiel’s snores coupled with the ever-present sound of the Filbert River coursing away outside. It’s so peaceful. This is the least lonely Dean’s felt in probably a decade.

The realization makes Dean’s eyes water. He can’t help but sniffle, and the sound manages to pull Castiel out of unconsciousness. He slowly blinks awake, looking up at Dean and frowning at what he sees.

“Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” Dean says, giving Castiel a small smile.

Castiel reaches up with the hand not wedged under Dean’s body, brushing at Dean’s tears. “You’re crying.”

“It’s fine… I’m just a little overwhelmed with good feelings, honestly. Didn’t think I was a ‘weep at a beautiful sunset’ kind of dude, but here we are.”

“Is that so?”

“Don’t tell anyone,” Dean says, kissing the top of Castiel’s hair.

“But I want to tell people. You might have to bribe me to keep me quiet.”

“Yeah? Looking for a payoff, Cas?”

Dean shifts the thigh Castiel’s hips are pressed against, just enough for Castiel to feel it, and he grins at the way Castiel’s eyes widen then flutter closed.

“I’m sure we can work something out,” Castiel says. He crawls over Dean, dipping his head and kissing him slow, deep. It’s _good,_ morning breath be damned. Dean groans when their tongues meet, one hand tangling in Castiel’s soft hair, the other fumbling around on the nightstand until his fingers find the small spray bottle by his alarm clock. He points the bottle at the foot of the bed and sprays a fine mist.

“Six is a crowd, guys,” Dean says, as the cats all jolt awake and scatter to get away from the spray of water.

“Poor things.”

“This isn’t a spectator sport,” Dean says, pulling Castiel down so their hips meet. “Unless that’s your kind of thing.”

“I don’t think that’s quite my thing.”

“I’ve been watched before.”

“Oh?”

“Okay, so I know I’ve said I’ve never been in a threesome, but one time I _thought_ I was getting into a threeway with a girl and her boyfriend. Apparently he just wanted to watch, though.”

“Interesting… how was it?”

“Pretty hot. It ended up online, though.”

Castiel pauses in nosing at Dean’s neck. “You’re kidding.”

“I knew he was recording it, but… I mean I thought it was for _them_ to watch later. But… by the time I noticed, it was a year later and I didn’t even remember their names by then. I was embarrassed and pissed off, but… oh well. At least I looked good. And no one I knew found out. Well… I think. Who knows, maybe they’ve all seen it and just haven’t said anything.”

“And what website was this?”

“Nice try.”

“You’ve made me terribly curious.”

“I bet.” Dean kisses Castiel, working a hand into the sweatpants he loaned him to sleep in.

“Oh... “ Castiel shudders as Dean wraps a hand around his erection.

“Good morning, by the way.”

“It is so far,” Castiel says, staring down at Dean, thrusting into his grip.

Their adventures in the woods aside, it’s been such a long while since Dean last held a dick other than his own, but it’s just like riding a bike. A sexy, blue-eyed bike that moans when Dean strokes it. Castiel’s cock feels good in Dean’s hand; long, thick, and slippery when Dean rubs his thumb over the head.

“Few things I like having in my hand more than a hard dick,” Dean mutters.

“What else do you like having in your hand, then?”

Dean smirks. “A forkful of pie.”

“Mhmm,” Castiel says, letting out a breathless huff of laughter.

“And…” Dean works both hands down the back of Castiel’s pants, grabbing two handfuls of gloriously firm flesh. “Maybe this.”

“ _Dean_ ,” Castiel whines.

“Yeah, Cas? Something you need?”

“Just you… just like this.”

“Yeah? Exactly like this? Or do we have some wiggle room?”

“Maybe a bit of wiggle room.”

Dean gently pushes Castiel off and onto his back, grinning when Castiel starts working his shirt and sweatpants off. Dean sheds his shirt and boxers eagerly, anxious to feel skin on skin. When he’s done flinging his shirt across the room he realizes Castiel is staring at his tattoo.

“Tats really do it for you, huh?”

“This one does,” Castiel says, tracing the outline with his fingertips. “It really suits you.”

Dean’s heart is doing little cartwheels in his chest. “Well, shit.” He presses himself against Castiel head to toe, groaning when their cocks touch. He rocks his body, rutting lazily for a few moments before licking his palm, getting it nice and wet, then reaching down to wrap it around their cocks. He’d love to do something more… _involved,_ but he’s lacking the necessary supplies and not really willing to go to the store for a condom run. He does however take a moment to pull a nearly empty tube of lube out of the nightstand, using the rest of it to get his hand much slicker.

It feels good, better than in the woods, even. It’s lacking the frantic energy, but this feels warm, intimate, like they’ve woken up this way together for years. Castiel looks _good_ in Dean’s bed, short dark hair fanned out on the green pillowcase, a slight flush on his cheeks, his eyes laser focused on Dean’s hand between them.

After a few more strokes, Castiel’s eyes flutter closed, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “The inn provides its share of amenities, but it’s definitely lacking the wake up services of the Winchester Cabin,” he says.

“That’s part of Crowley’s _deluxe_ package, I think.”

“Sounds expensive,” Castiel pants.

“Yeah, you get a much better deal here.”

Castiel moans when Dean tightens his grip. “Is that right?”

“All you gotta do to earn this service,” Dean says, stroking faster, fucking into his grip, “is moan my name.”

“ _Dean,_ ” Castiel hisses, eyes squeezed shut. His cock is so hard against Dean’s, it feels so damn good.

Dean dips down so his lips are right next to Castiel’s ear. “Just like that, darlin’, lemme hear it again.”

“Dean…” Castiel’s hands grip Dean’s shoulders tight. “Dean… Deandeandean— _fuck,_ ” Castiel growls, coming onto his stomach, teeth digging into his lower lip.

It’s hot, it’s real fucking hot and Dean slows his hand gradually, teasing a few more spasms out of Castiel before letting him go, and focusing his efforts on jerking himself in fast, wet strokes. He’s staring at Castiel’s blissed out expression; the closed eyes, the open-lipped smile, the slight blush. He’d take a picture if he wasn’t so busy fucking his own hand. When Castiel’s eyes pop open and lock onto Dean’s he’s a goner, coming with a low groan, eyes never leaving Castiel’s electric gaze.

  
  


*

  
  


It’s pretty early in the day, but as much as Dean would like to sleep in, he’s just not tired enough to fall back asleep. So he and Castiel crawl out of bed and share a chaste but intimate shower. Dean can’t remember the last time he washed a partner’s fucking _hair_ in the shower. It feels normal, though. He likes it. He watches Castiel sniff his shampoo bottle and smile in approval at the scent, and something warm and bright unfurls inside him. They’re at the start of something _tangible_ here, and for the first time since Bela, Dean’s not thinking in terms of time limits or inevitable endings. More importantly, he looks at Castiel and doesn’t feel an ounce of fear.

Which in itself is pretty damn scary.

  
  


  
  


*

  
  


They’re at the table, both in fresh pairs of Dean’s boxers and working their way through the first pancakes Dean’s made in years. There’s a knock at the front door and Dean sighs, padding over and opening it enough for him to see outside without his visitor seeing him nearly naked.

It’s Charlie, grinning at him expectantly.

“Uh… hey, Charlie. What’s up?”

“It’s Friday,” Charlie says.

Dean stares, waiting for her to explain the significance. “And?”

Charlie snorts. “ _Laundry_ Friday, you idjit.”

“Oh, _wow,_ sorry, I totally forg— did you just call me an idjit?”

“Oh God, I did. Am I becoming Bobby? Should I be worried?”

“Maybe you’re safe until you start developing an affinity for Tori Spelling and filthy trucker caps.”

“Whew, that was a close one. So, do you have any clothes for me to take, or… oh my God _,_ do I smell _waffles_?”

“Uh… pancakes…”

Charlie uses a surprising amount of strength to shove her way into the house, sending Dean stumbling backwards. “You have _pancakes,_ and you weren’t going to offer…” Charlie stalls, seeing an underdressed Castiel at the kitchen table, fork halfway to his mouth. “Oh. _Oh._ ” She looks back at Dean. “You, uh… you have a guest.”

“Cas,” Dean groans, “you remember Charlie.”

Castiel smiles, setting his fork down. “The ex.”

“One of many,” Charlie says, winking.

“Well you’re a bit overdressed, but there are more pancakes on the counter,” Castiel says. Wow. Morning Castiel is pretty laid back. Charlie grins, sitting in Dean’s chair and taking a massive bite of his pancakes.

“He wasn’t inviting you to eat _my_ pancakes, Charlie!” Dean whines.

“So good though,” Charlie says through a mouthful of food.

Dean glares and goes to fix himself a new plate. “That’s my _fork_ and everything, what if I’d been sick?”

“I haven’t gotten sick in nine years,” Charlie boasts, “your pancake germs aren’t gonna take me down.”

There are only two chairs at the table, so Dean leans against the counter, eating pancakes in his Batman boxers while his first girlfriend and his new… _something_ chat about the immune system supporting powers of vitamins and tea.

This used to be pretty typical for Dean, growing up. Not the underdressed part, but the random-people-over-for-a-meal part. Back when they lived at Bobby’s there always seemed to be someone over. If it wasn’t a friend of Sam or Dean’s, then it was a friend of Bobby’s. Dean’s father didn’t much care for it, but he always said it was a small price to pay to have his boys grow up around good, friendly people.

Saturday mornings were spent watching cartoons with Sam, Jo, and maybe Charlie, Benny, or Garth. Then after lunch they’d have adventures in the woods, with Sam always right where Dean could keep an eye on him. Dean misses those days of rounding up every kid they could find for a mud fight after a summer rain, the days of big town barbecues that had even John showing up to be social.

These days there are still mud fights, still lots of visitors at Bobby’s, still big town barbecues. Dean just hasn’t been around to enjoy any of it.

“Dean? Earth to Dean!”

Dean blinks a few times, startled out of his memories of carefree days. His plate got cleared at some point, and he sets it on the counter before looking at Charlie and Castiel’s expectant and slightly concerned faces.

“Uh, hey. What’s up?”

“Um… I asked if you wanted to come play board games at my house while your laundry was in the machine.”

“Wait, is that really what you asked?”

Charlie raises an eyebrow. “Yeah? Cas and I were talking about how long it’s been since he played a board game… so I invited him over… figured we’d go wake up Jo, too.”

“That sounds like an awesome fucking idea, Charlie,” Dean says, grinning.

“Alright!” Charlie claps her hands together excitedly. “Well you two get dressed and get some dirty clothes together and head over, okay? I’m going to see if Jo wants to hang out with us. You remember where I live, right?”

“That little blue and white house up the road from the community center?”

“Right! See you soon, boys!”

Charlie leaves, and Dean looks over at Castiel. “So, making friends already?”

Castiel smiles. “She’s quite… effervescent. It’s very attractive.”

“Attractive, like… _attractive_?”

Castiel rolls his eyes. “I’m going to do these dishes, be sure to get our clothes from last night in your laundry load.”

Dean offers Castiel a salacious smirk. “Our _dirty-_ dirty clothes.”

  
  


*

  
  


Castiel ends up in more of Dean’s old clothes, a sight Dean likes very, very much. The ratty pair of blue jeans are hanging low on his hips, and he has on a faded black Transformers t-shirt that Dean hasn’t worn in eons. It’s _snug_ on Castiel, hugging the lines of his body like a second skin. Dean can’t stop staring at Castiel as they walk up to Charlie’s house, wondering if he would be up for something fast and dirty in the Impala. He’s just about to open his mouth to suggest some mutual hand jobs when Charlie’s front door swings open, and Jo steps into view.

“Dean Winchester making a social visit, will wonders never cease!”

“Cram it, Joanna Beth,” Dean barks, leading Castiel inside.

“Still as surly as ever, I see. Well come on in, everyone’s waiting.”

“Uh… who’s _everyone_?” Dean reaches Charlie’s living room and stops so abruptly Castiel walks right into him from behind. Sifting through Charlie’s pile of board games are Benny, Ash, Madison, and Sam. There aren’t even enough chairs in this house for eight people. Charlie breezes by, yanking Dean’s laundry out of his hands before she disappears into the other room. “What the hell? How did you get so many people over here?”

“They wanted to see you!” Jo says.

“It’s a weekday, don’t you people have _jobs_?” There’s a collective shrug from the room, and Dean sighs, plopping down on the arm of Charlie’s couch. “Feel like I’m at a damn surprise party or something.”

“SURPRISE!” Sam yells.

“Come on, it’s not a party,” Madison says, “there’s no booze or snacks!”

“Should I get beer?” Ash says.

“It’s not even _noon,_ ” Jo groans, “what is wrong with you?”

“Good point.”

“I dunno,” Benny says, “maybe we _should_ have beer. Feels like our teen years, you know? Cuttin’ out after lunch and heading off to drink beers in Garth’s basement.”

Sam looks surprised. “Really? How come no one ever brought me?”

“Because you were _fourteen,_ ” Dean says.

“Yeah, Sam,” Jo snickers, “you were young and impressionable, we couldn’t corrupt you.”

“You’re only two years older than me, Jo.”

“Older and wiser, my love.”

“So,” Benny says, “who’s the new guy?”

Everyone turns toward Castiel, who wilts slightly.

“This is Castiel,” Sam says, “he’s Dean’s uh… Dean’s…”

“Special man friend,” Dean says.

“Wow, really?” Ash says. “I thought you were still in the closet.”

Dean glares. “I was recently informed that my bisexual closet was in fact _made of glass_.”

“Thanks to Benny,” Jo says.

Benny looks around at everyone, confused. “Thanks to Benny? What did I do?”

“Dude, you got drunk and told _everyone_ in The Roadhouse about you and Dean,” Sam says.

“What? When?”

“A few years ago,” Madison says. “I heard about it from Becky Rosen, she was pretty damn excited.”

“I heard it from Becky too,” Charlie says.

“Huh,” Benny says. “What’d I say?”

“You were moaning and wailing about all your lost loves,” Jo says, snickering. “Somehow you spent _ten minutes_ talking about how soft Dean’s lips are.”

“To be fair,” Charlie says, “they are _very_ soft.”

Benny, Jo, and Castiel all nod in agreement, and Ash is staring at Dean’s mouth thoughtfully. Dean wants to die.

“Can we _please_ talk about something else?” Dean sighs.

Sam clears the coffee table and starts setting up Monopoly. “Castiel could introduce himself to everyone! Tell us about yourself!”

Castiel is on the floor in front of Dean’s arm of the couch, looking up at Dean in a panic.

“Dude you don’t have to _impress_ them,” Dean says, “just give them some tidbits.”

“Uh… alright. My name is Castiel Novak, I’m thirty-six years old, and until last month I was the human resources manager at Sandover Bridge and Iron in Los Angeles. I have five brothers and sisters. I’ve been staying at MacLeod’s Inn, but I’m looking into a slightly more permanent residence in the area. Uh… I like honey.”

“Good intro, good intro!” Jo cheers, clapping.

Charlie holds up the tray of Monopoly game pieces, and Dean and Sam dive forward at the same time, trying to get to the car piece. Dean gets it first, so Sam takes the dog instead.

“I think Dean should do one too,” Ash says.

Dean looks over at Ash. “Are you joking?”

“You’ve been out of the game a long time, who knows who you are. Is your name even Dean anymore?”

“Uh… okay, sure. My name is Dean Winchester, I’m an Aquarius. I like long walks on the beach, and frisky women.” Dean glances at Castiel. “And men. My hobbies include watching Netflix, applying flea medication to my dead father’s four cats, and praying to my lord and master Beelzebub.”

“Same old, same old, right chief?” Benny says.

“Pretty much.”

“Well there’s one thing that’s new,” Charlie says. “Our Mr. Winchester has a _tattoo_!”

Benny looks over at Dean, like the tattoo is going to be on his face or something.

Sam, meanwhile, is trying to look through Dean’s clothes with x-ray vision or some shit. “You got a tattoo? When did you get a tattoo? How could I not know you have a tattoo?”

“Easy, Sam,” Madison says, patting his arm.

“It’s on his boobie,” Charlie says.

“Ooh,” Jo says, “did you see it?”

“I did, I did. He was in his undies when I came by.”

Everyone aside from Charlie, Dean, and Castiel go “Oooo!” Like they’re in the fifth grade or something.

“What is it?” Madison asks.

“A flaming pentagram,” Charlie says, wiggling her fingers like it’s spooky.

“Wow, and here I thought the ‘lord and master Beelzebub’ thing was a joke,” Ash says.

“It _was_ a joke,” Dean says. “It’s not a satanic tattoo.”

“Nope, it’s an anti-possession symbol,” Charlie says, “so either you’re afraid of demons, _or,_ you’re a closet SHE fan!”

“I mean, I’m not in the _closet_ about it…” Dean mutters.

“SHE?” Benny says.

“Sheriffs Hunting Evil!” Charlie says.

Benny shakes his head. “Never heard of it.”

“It’s a book series,” Ash says.

Dean grins at Ash. “You’ve read it?”

“I might’ve.”

“Hey!” Madison says, “Me too!”

“And me!” Jo says.

“Really?” Dean says.

Jo nods. “Badass chicks traveling the country hunting down monsters, of _course_ I’ve read it.”

“ _Excellent,_ ” Charlie says.

“So, you really got the anti-possession symbol as a tattoo? That’s so awesome, Dean, I had no idea you were a fan,” Jo says.

“Yep. A few years ago.”

“You know I’m ashamed that you didn’t tell me you were a fan, Dean,” Charlie says. “We could have geeked out over book ten _together._ ”

“It uh… sorry, I dunno. I read the books at the store all the time… wasn’t a _secret._ ”

“Well, I think the five of us should form a book club when book eleven comes out,” Charlie says, and the others nod enthusiastically.

“I can’t _wait_ for the next one,” Jo says.

Charlie starts passing out Monopoly money. “Jody getting her hands on the Book of the Damned was _amazing_.”

“I thought the whole ‘secret society of men descended from Dr. Frankenstein’ thing was going to be so stupid, but it ended up being really cool,” Dean says.

“You have to be a _damn_ good writer to make something like that work, luckily Emmanuel Allen is an amazing writer,” Jo sighs happily.

Dean glances over at Castiel, who is fidgeting with his wheelbarrow game piece and blushing.

Weird.

Dean wants to ask, but they’re in a room full of people, probably not a great time to put Castiel on the spot.

“Hey, are we playing, or do you guys need to have an emergency geek session?” Sam says.

Jo rolls her eyes. “Says the man with Lord of the Rings action figures in his room.”

“Those are collectibles!”

  
  


*

  
  


They play for hours. After Monopoly they play Clue, then Life while Ash and Jo go out on a snack run, then Pictionary. Dean is fairly content, but there’s still a level of unease over him. He wants to pretend it’s not there, he wants things to be like they used to be, but _he’s_ not like he used to be. He thought he could go back to being the way he was before he left, but it turns out just wanting it isn’t enough. It’s no one’s fault, he’s just not used to hanging out with a crowd anymore. It’s nice, though. It really does _mostly_ feel like old times, and Dean thinks that this place can truly start to feel like home again.

It’s a lot, though, and whatever emotional disorder Dean’s picked up or unlocked over the years can only handle so much of this. By six, all the talking, laughter, and cheerful social energy starts to leave Dean feeling drained. Charlie, Madison, Jo, Ash, and Benny are all playing another game of Life, while Sam and Castiel are on the couch, talking about the plight of the honeybee.

“Uh, hey,” Dean says awkwardly, standing by the couch. “I was thinking about going home. You uh… you good to catch a ride back from someone here?”

Castiel frowns up at Dean. “Do you not want me to come with you?”

Dean wouldn’t mind having Castiel with him. “You’re having a good time.”

“If you want to be alone, I can find a ride home later, but I’d like to go with you, if you’ll have me.”

Dean smiles. “I can be alone with you.”

“I’m going to try to not be insulted by the fact that you like this guy better than me, your _brother,_ ” Sam says, glaring when Dean pats him on the head.

It’s a bit awkward saying his goodbyes to everyone, knowing they’re here to see him. No one looks sour or disappointed, though, just lots of “hope to see you again soon, Dean”, and “great to get to know you, Castiel”, and “here, take your damn laundry”.

Before long Dean and Castiel are back in the Impala, heading away from Hazelnut Valley.

“Did you have a good time? You seemed like you were having a good time,” Dean says.

“I can’t remember the last time I had such an enjoyable and casual afternoon with a group of strangers.”

“And that’s… a good thing, right?”

“Oh yes. It was quite fun, and everyone made me feel very welcome.”

“Yeah, they’re all good people.”

“And they all love you very much.”

“Yeah… uh…” Now Dean’s embarrassed. “They do.”

“What about you, Dean? Did you enjoy your afternoon?”

“Yeah,” Dean says, nodding at the road. “It was unexpected… I mean it’s Friday, they have _jobs_ they were ignoring to spend time with me.”

“Perhaps they were excited for an excuse to play hooky.”

“Maybe, I just…”

“You just…?”

“I don’t feel like I’m worth that trouble.”

“Well,” Castiel says, patting Dean’s knee, “they obviously feel differently.”

  
  


*

  
  


Back at the house Dean stands in his kitchen, frying up patties to make bacon cheeseburgers while Castiel sits at the table, watching, smiling.

“What’re you so smiley about?” Dean says.

“You’re very attractive,” Castiel says with a pleased sigh, “and you’re making burgers.”

“Oh… uh… that’s a good reason.”

“Mhmm.”

“I feel like you’re staring at my ass or something.”

“I am,” Castiel says cheerfully.

Dean snorts. “You sure are perky today.”

“I feel… _good._ A bit guilty that I got no writing done, but good.”

“Do you have a writing schedule?”

“Not quite, more like an ideal amount of time I’d like to spend on the project each day. Back when I was still in Los Angeles, I got very used to writing on my lunch break, and maybe before bed if I was on a roll that day. Less than two hours a day, which most of the time only netted me a few pages. It wasn’t so bad, until I changed my mind and had to undo a bunch of pages or something like that. I’m used to it taking months and months before I can even have something to send to my editor or my publisher.”

“Man, it’s so crazy that you’re a for real writer. Publisher, editor, copies of completed books floating around out there that I couldn’t find when I looked you up online…”

“Well, it would be harder to keep it a secret from my family if I’d been publishing under my real name, Dean.”

“You’ve got me so damn curious.”

“I promise you can read it when it’s done. Still miles to go on the story.”

"Maybe I'll just withhold these delicious burgers until then."

"You wouldn't."

Dean grins. "I'm not that cruel."

 

 

*

 

 

 

Dean doesn’t ask Castiel to stay another night after dinner, and Castiel doesn’t ask about staying. The night wears on, and Castiel is just still _there_ with Dean, watching more episodes of The Great British Baking Show on Netflix, curled up with Dean on his bed, Okami snoozing on his legs.

Contentment is so foreign to Dean these days, but he feels it now. He could really get used to this.

“Can I have a hint for what your book is about?” Dean asks. Castiel’s face scrunches up as he looks from the laptop to Dean. “One word. Come on, _one_ word.”

Castiel sighs, shaking his head with an obvious fondness that makes Dean’s chest ache. “Family.”

  
  


 

 


	15. (Saturday, October 3rd)

Dean wakes up alone, nary a cat or writer in sight. The room is silent, save for the sound of Dean’s heater running at its lowest setting, and the sound of the river outside. He whines, rolling over to grind his morning erection into the mattress, mind fuzzy and aroused. He dreamed he was lying in bed with Castiel, warm, naked, trading kisses. It’s on the disappointing side to wake up from that and be alone in the bed. He wants to get up, see if Castiel is in the house at all, but instead he works a hand under himself and into his boxers. He gives himself a few teasing strokes, groaning low into his pillow before rolling onto his back again and pulling his boxers down to his knees. He lies there with his eyes closed, legs spread, enjoying the weight of himself in his hand.

He doesn’t do this all that often, too grouchy in the mornings, too weary at night. He probably should; maybe he’s so surly these days because he’s not getting enough release.

He rubs his thumb against the head of his dick, idly wondering again if Castiel is in the house, then he grins at the way thinking of Castiel makes his dick fatten further. He plants his feet flat onto the mattress, thrusting up into his hand, moaning at how good it feels.

“Dean? Are you— _oh._ ”

Dean opens his eyes to see Castiel in the doorway to his room, holding a half-empty glass of apple juice and looking very surprised. Dean wonders if he ought to feel guilty.

He doesn’t, though, he just grins lazily up at Castiel. “Helping yourself to my fridge I see,” he says, dragging his fist down to the base of his cock.

“I ate one of your granola bars, too.”

“Hmm, that’s fine. Wasn’t sure if you were still here or not. Glad you are.”

“That so?”

Dean starts massaging his balls with his free hand. This is fun. “Yeah, that’s so. Like having you here, Cas.”

Castiel seems determined to maintain eye contact, but his eyes dart down to Dean’s hands for a brief moment. “I…” he licks his lips. “I like being here.”

“You just gonna watch?”

Castiel takes a drink of his juice. “Perhaps.”

Dean smirks. “Cool.”

Dean lets his head fall down against his pillows, grinning up at the ceiling while he continues to work himself in slow, even strokes. He moves his free hand up to his face, sucking two fingers in his mouth. He hears the hitch in Castiel’s breathing and can’t help up put on a bit of a show, closing his eyes and moaning as he gets his fingers wet with saliva.

“ _Dean_.”

Dean rolls onto his side and moves his spit-slick fingers down behind himself, running them around his rim and shuddering. It’s been way, way too long since he did this last, fuck. He pushes the tip of one finger in, eager to feel a little bit of a stretch, and his dick pulses in his other hand.

“ _Fuck,_ ” Dean mutters, working his finger in further, wishing he hadn’t used up his lube. He can hear Castiel breathing a little harder, but he ignores the urge to insist Castiel come help. It’s hot, knowing Castiel is just fucking _standing there,_ watching Dean stroke himself and slowly fuck himself with one finger.

“Feels so _good,_ Cas,” Dean says softly, squirming in his own grip. He opens his eyes, feeling an excited thrill run through him at what he sees.

Castiel is leaning against the door frame, glass of juice nowhere in sight. He’s biting his lower lip, eyes on Dean as he toys with a nipple through his shirt with one hand, while he rubs himself over his— _Dean’s_ — sleep pants with the other. Dean feels himself take several giant steps toward his orgasm. He’s had plenty of sex in his life, but he can’t say he’s ever had this particular scenario go down. Dean wants Castiel, and Castiel _clearly_ wants Dean, and yet… here they are, touching themselves, and not each other.

Castiel works a hand into his pants, stroking himself beneath the cotton, and Dean is _jealous_ of that hand. He wishes Castiel would take the pants off so he can actually see, but he doesn’t ask.

They stare into each other’s eyes from their respective spots while Dean pushes into himself with a second finger, gasping at the stretch, the burn he forgot was coming. Castiel’s hand is moving faster in his pants, Dean can hear the faint sound of precome-slick skin.

“Cas,” Dean pants.

“ _Dean_.”

“I’d kill for a condom and some fuckin’ lube right about now.”

“Yes… yes… _oh._ ” Castiel squeezes his eyes shut, body tense. He comes quietly, hand still working as wetness spreads through grey fabric. His hand slows as he slumps against the door frame, breathing just slightly labored. It’s a brief moment, yet one of the hottest things Dean has ever seen, and it’s no wonder he comes just as Castiel relaxes.

“Fuck…” He squirms on his fingers, making a great deal more noise than Castiel while he comes, hand squeezing almost too tight on his cock.

“Yes, I agree,” Castiel says, sinking down to sit on the floor.

  
  


*

  
  


After a shower and breakfast Castiel reluctantly prepares to head back to the inn, determined to get some writing done. “I could return this evening? If you’re amenable,” he says, kissing Dean gently at the door, thumbs rubbing at Dean’s sides.

“Yes, I think I’m pretty damn amenable. You go do your thing, I’ll chill out here with my cat posse, maybe read another one of my Emmanuel Allen novels. Love me some Jody and Donna.”

Castiel’s hands twitch at Dean’s sides and he nods slowly. “It’s a date, then.”

  
  


*

  
  


Dean does end up spending his day reading, Crocatta lazing at his feet, the rest of the cats outside probably killing small, cute things. He reads Death Takes a Holiday, where Jody and Donna learn about angels and reapers. The fourth book is one of his favorites, it really opens up the world for the series. After that he moves on to Dead Men Don’t Wear Plaid, where Jody’s hometown is beset by seemingly harmless zombies, including the zombie of Jody’s own son.

Dean’s a pretty swift reader when he gets in a groove, which rarely happens at the store. The store is mostly silent, but not completely still. With a typical flow of customers it can take Dean three times as long to read through a book.

He’s halfway through Dead Men Don’t Wear Plaid when he hears a knock at the door. He leaps out of bed, book in hand. It’s later than he realized, the world behind Castiel is dark when Dean opens the door, and Lamia, Rugaru, and Okami are all looking up at him expectantly.

“Have a productive day?” Dean says.

Castiel holds up a plastic bag holding two containers with something delicious smelling inside. “I brought you something.”

“So, that’s a no?” Dean says, ushering Castiel inside.

Castiel smiles. “I spent the day writing, but it was a… two steps forward, one step back sort of day.”

“What does that mean?”

“Ultimately I created more than I destroyed, but I still removed pages and pages worth of work.”

“I’m sorry, man.”

Castiel shrugs. “It happens. It’s alright, I have all the time in the world. I went to The Roadhouse after I decided to stop for the day.”

“Ooh, what’d you get me?”

Castiel takes the styrofoam containers out of the bag, setting them on the counter. “Well, Jo tried to insist that you’d want the veggie burger…”

Dean rolls his eyes. “She would.”

Castiel opens the containers to reveal battered chicken strips and fries. “I suspected her intentions were perhaps dubious, and went with my own idea. I hope you like chicken.”

“Cas,” Dean says, grinning, “you’re the best.”

They sit down and tuck into their food, still hot from the restaurant. Dean _loves_ the breading Ellen uses on her chicken, and she won’t tell him the exact recipe.

“So,” Castiel says, “what did you do today?”

“I read for hours, and it was awesome.”

“Ah, your sheriffs.”

“Hell yeah. Jody and Donna are badass, Cas.”

“Which one is your favorite?”

“Which book?”

“Which Sheriff?”

“Oh. Well, Donna’s awesome because she tries real hard to see the good in things, she tries to have fun when she can, _and_ she knows the power of a good doughnut. And Jody… well her son died and her husband left, but she’s still tough as nails and fighting the good fight. She tries to take care of everyone without letting that define her.”

Castiel tilts his head as Dean munches on a few french fries. “You didn’t pick a favorite.”

“I know… I’m thinking. Probably Jody. She’s surlier than Donna, and I like surly.”

“You identify with surly.”

“I think that’s been pretty well established in the past few weeks, don’t you?”

“Perhaps,” Castiel says, taking a bite of chicken.

  
  


*

  
  


They spend the night reading in bed, which Dean’s pretty sure he’s never done with a _romantic interest_ before. It’s really, really nice. Castiel reads one of Dean’s Vonnegut books, Dean reads the rest of Dead Men Don’t Wear Plaid, and a pile of recently fed cats relax at their feet.

This book is so fucking sad. Just when Jody is finally accepting that the zombies really mean no harm, that her son Owen really is back from the dead, the zombies turn feral, and every last one of them has to be taken out. The worst part is when sweet, sunny Donna has to be the one to put Owen down, because she won’t let Jody go through that experience.

“Dean?”

Dean looks over at Castiel. “Yeah?”

“You’re crying.”

“No I’m not,” Dean says, letting out a wet sniffle, “ _you’re_ crying.”

“I’m very clearly _not_ crying. What’s wrong?”

Dean wipes at his eyes with the back of his hand. “Just a sad part in the book, that’s all.”

“Really? Which part?”

“Can’t tell you. I’m planning to make you read these at some point if things get serious between us,” Dean says, smirking through his tears.

“Oh, really?”

“Yep! And then you’ll love them as much as I do… and also apparently Charlie, Jo, Maddy, and Ash, and you’ll beg to see my Donna and Jody fan art.”

“I already want to see your art.”

“But you haven’t read the books!”

Castiel sighs. “Stubborn.”

Dean shuffles closer to Castiel and opens his book. “Shh, I’m reading.”

  
  


*

**(Sunday, October 4th)**

  
  


Dean spends his Sunday warm, lazy and sated. Castiel kisses him awake in the early hours of the morning, hands working Dean’s boxers down so he can lick and suck Dean to hardness before they stroke each other to completion. After, they sleep again for another hour or two, then wake to spend thirty frisky minutes in Dean’s less than spacious shower. They devour scrambled eggs and hashbrowns for breakfast, and spend the day reading, chatting, and watching Iron Chef America on Netflix.

After a dinner of grilled cheese and tomato soup they finally get dressed and go sit behind Dean’s house in the rickety old lawn chairs John left sitting close to the edge of the riverbank.

“Are these chairs too close to the edge?” Castiel asks, eyeing the steep embankment down to the river.

“Nah, don’t worry. My dad never fell in, anyway. Sam did though. A few years ago.”

Castiel grimaces. “What happened?”

“Well, I wasn’t here, but according to my dad, Sam was over to visit and looking across the river with Dad’s binoculars, and he thought he spotted a bear on the other side.”

Castiel looks around suddenly, like he’s expecting a bear to be lurking in the growing shadows.

“My dad was doing dishes, kinda half watching,” Dean says, pointing behind them to the kitchen window. “He said he saw Sam looking with the binoculars, then he glanced away for a second or two, and when he looked back, Sammy was gone. He’d walked _right_ over the edge trying to get a better look across the river.”

“Good heavens.”

“Point is, it’s safe as long as you’re paying attention.”

“Was Sam hurt?”

“Of course! That’s a steep slope, and there’s rocks and tree parts and all that shit on the way down. Sammy got his share of cuts and scrapes, fractured his arm trying to break his fall, broke the binoculars, and somehow his left shoe disappeared. Dad even climbed down there later to try and find it, but that shoe was just plain gone.”

Castiel chuckles. “That was a lovely story, Dean.”

“Shame I wasn’t here to film it.”

  
  


*

  
  


It starts to get late, and Dean wants Castiel to stay; he really likes having him here, but he’s going back to the store tomorrow, and…

“I understand, Dean. You want to feel ready.”

Dean nods. “I hate that I’m dreading it. I love that store, Cas.”

“It’s the anticipation. I think there’s a good chance you’ll feel fine once you’re actually there.”

“What if I don’t?”

“Then you can try again on Tuesday.”

Sounds simple enough.

  
  


*

  
  


Dean sends the cats out when Castiel leaves, and spends the night reading about Jody and Donna battling virgin stealing dragons in Like a Virgin, book six of his favored series. He feels… bereft with no other signs of life in the house, and by the time he goes to bed, he feels himself wondering why he thought he needed to be alone tonight.

He falls asleep wondering if he’ll ever learn to stop getting in his own way.

  
  


 


	16. (Monday, October 5th)

On Monday morning, Dean gets up at seven, takes a quick shower, eats a quick breakfast, and leaves food and water out on the porch for his brood of cats. The sun is up, but it’s not all that bright out. Dean spends a moment deciding on whether he wants to take his car or not. It’ll be dark on the way back, and after his experience in the woods with Castiel, he’s not as keen on wandering home with no natural light.

Eventually he decides to walk and bring a working flashlight for the trip home.

He’s at the end of his driveway when he notices the four cats following him. “ _No,_ ” he says, pointing toward the house, “go _home_.” The cats, predictably, do not obey. He sighs. The cats are trying to be there for him, he thinks. He’s not sure how the fuck they know he needs support, but whatever.

Cats are apparently magical.

He walks to the store under the faint light of dawn, four cats trailing behind him. When they get to the store the cats turn around and walk back the way they came, and it’s fucking freaky, but Dean does feel ready to start his day.

  
  


*

  
  


“You’re paying for that.”

Sam looks up from where he’s pouring coffee, cursing when a splash of hot liquid hits his finger. “Come on, it’s your first day back.”

“You know, Gadreel gave me a welcome back gift, but you just come by and try to steal my coffee.”

“Did he really get you a gift?”

Dean reaches behind the counter, picking up the large pumpkin that Gadreel brought and setting it next to the register. “I’m gonna carve a moose on this later and tell people it’s you.”

“Yeah, well I’m going to carve that crazy cat lady from The Simpsons and tell people it’s _you,_ ” Sam says, looking at the counter. “That’s a big damn pumpkin, Gadreel must really _like_ you.”

Dean wrinkles his nose. “Don’t make it weird. A guy can give another guy a giant platonic pumpkin, okay? Besides, I’m spoken for. Sort of. I think.”

“He said, with unwavering confidence.”

“Shut up, Sam. I’m just not actually sure if we’re… I mean we spent most of my break together, and we’ve been…” Dean trails off, rubbing his two pointer fingers together.

“What in the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“Two guys rubbing their dicks together.”

“Ugh, Dean.”

“Well, we haven’t…” Dean makes a circle with his thumb and pointer, jabbing his other pointer into the circle.

“I can’t believe you’re doing that in front of Mom and Dad.”

Dean glances at the mausoleum. “They didn’t notice. They’re busy.”

“Oh, now they’re _busy._ Doing what?”

“Dead parent stuff.”

“You’re fucked up, you know that?”

  
  


*

  
  


Things seem pretty normal. Crowley comes in to bitch about Dean not carrying cigarettes, as he does once a week, Rufus Turner comes in to buy all of Dean’s batteries, Eleanor Visyak comes in to buy a blueberry muffin and ask Dean if Bobby is seeing anyone. It’s the usual mix of long time regulars and people just passing through. Dean reads in between customers, feet propped up on the counter next to the big-ass pumpkin. It’s not as nice as reading in bed with Castiel and a bunch of huge cats, but it’s not so bad.

  
  


*

  
  


Dean closes up the store at six, making a note to call his distributor tomorrow and add some things to his Thursday delivery, like god damn batteries. When he leaves at seven the lone streetlight hasn’t turned on yet, but he can see Castiel in the fading light of day, sitting on the bench, surrounded by Dean’s cats.

He looks up from petting Rugaru to smile at Dean. “They seem very loyal, showing up to walk you home like this.”

“This is the first time I’ve had cats, but I’m pretty sure this isn't normal.”

Castiel chuckles, setting Rugaru down on the ground and standing. “I came to ask if you’d like to come to the community center with me.”

“For _bingo_?”

“I haven’t played since I was young, I’m curious.”

“What’s in it for me?”

Castiel smiles. “Kisses.”

Dean throws his arm around Castiel’s shoulders, grinning. “Let’s get my entourage home and fed, and I’ll drive us.”

  
  


*

  
  


It gets pretty dark while they’re walking, but since they have a flashlight, four cats, _and_ know where they’re going, it’s not nearly as scary as last time.

  
  


*

  
  


Hazelnut Valley Community Center is a big red building that looks like a barn on the outside, but is mostly a regular building on the inside. The high ceilings make it hard to heat in the winter months, and Dean can remember how much he hated going to holiday events here and having to bundle up in a hat, gloves, a scarf, and a big coat just to be comfortable. It’s chilly tonight, and it’s just cool enough inside for most people here to be in sweaters or jackets, but it’s not so bad.

Admission is ten dollars, fifteen if Dean wants cider and cookies, which he does. He forks over thirty dollars to cover himself and Castiel, and they each receive a stack of bingo cards, a marker, and a bright pink laminated card that they can hand over at the snack table later to get their cider and cookies. It’s pretty crowded tonight, most of the tables are taken, but Dean pulls Castiel to one that’s empty.

“Don’t you want to sit with your friends?” Castiel says, gesturing to where Charlie, Madison, and Ash are at a table.

“Not enough room for both of us. Besides, I’d rather start small tonight.”

Castiel sits, counting his bingo cards. “Small is good. So, how does this work?”

“Well, they seem to be on break right now, but when Sammy comes back, he’ll go up to the podium and start pulling painted ping-pong balls out of the drum. Some places have people with tons and tons of cards at once, but here you pick from your stack one at a time. No changing halfway through. Then if you get a bingo, you get to go up and spin the prize wheel.”

Dean points to the large, weathered, colorful circle mounted on a wooden beam at the front of the room. “I helped make that, actually, it was a project for a bunch of us in eighth and ninth grade. It’s held up pretty damn well, if I do say so myself.”

The prizes range from ten dollars, to fifty dollars, with other things like “a candy bar”, or “free burger at The Roadhouse”, or coupons from area businesses. Some of the prizes have changed over the years, but the free burger is always up there, because Ellen loves feeding people.

Castiel flips through his bingo cards before selecting one from the middle and placing it in front of him. “So, where does the money from admission go?”

Dean chuckles. “Mostly into more bingo nights. The snacks, the prizes. Every so often they’ll save enough for a bigger prize like a microwave or a bike, and that always draws people in.”

“Sounds like a good system.”

“It’s something to do, you know? This place has shit like movie nights and holiday parties and rummage sales, too. All that wholesome community shit you see in small towns on TV. Lots of mingling.”

Two older men Dean doesn’t recognize hurry to sit in the two empty chairs at their table just as Sam comes up to the microphone and starts talking.

“Alright! Who’s ready for another round?”

Madison, Charlie, and Ash all whoop and cheer while the other people nearby turn to stare at them.

“That’s the spirit!” Sam says. He spots Dean and waves enthusiastically from the podium. Dean hides his face. “Let’s get this round started!”

  
  


*

  
  


A few rounds go by. Nobody at Dean’s table gets a bingo, but Ash does, hooting and hollering his way up to the front, then pumping his fist in triumph when he wins a coupon for a free item with a value of five dollars or less from Cain’s shop. Dean doesn’t realize Cain is in the room until he hears him call out “Make it ten dollars!” in response to Ash’s enthusiasm.

Dean and Castiel fill up on hot apple cider and oatmeal raisin cookies, mostly chatting to each other, though Dean does at one point go over to Charlie’s table and draw penises on everyone’s cards while they’re getting cookies.

When the night is over at ten, everyone turns in their blank cards to Sam, and deposits their used ones in the large recycling bin next to the podium. Dean deals with their cards and trash while Castiel chats with Cain; probably about bees. Or threesomes with Crowley.

Dean feels a gentle hand on the small of his back as he dumps his crumb covered napkins in the trash, and slowly smiles until he turns around and sees _Bela_ instead of Castiel.

“Expecting someone else?” Bela says.

Dean glances over to where Castiel is making large, sweeping hand gestures as he talks. “Well, _yeah_.”

“Sorry to disappoint, love. Just little old me instead.”

“Okay, what do you want?”

Bela gets a look that’s not quite hurt, but definitely not pleased. “We’ve yet to catch up, darling, I thought we might go somewhere and talk.”

“Hard pass.”

“Don’t be like that, Dean, I only want to know what you’ve been up to these past years.”

“Oh, so you’re _not_ trying to pick me up for sex.”

“Well, I wouldn’t take it off the table, but I really am quite curious.”

“ _Nothing_ ,” Dean says, raising his voice a little. “That’s what I’ve been up to. You ditched me in Portland, and I was too much of a coward to come home with my tail between my legs, so for ten years I moved from town to town, job to job, had dead end relationships and didn’t make a single close friend until my damn dad died. Then I came back here and I never fucking talk to anyone because I managed to forget how to be around people, and I think I have some kind of god damn _anxiety disorder._ And that’s what I’ve been up to, Bela.”

The chatter in the room has died away. Dean might have been talking a bit too loud.

“You’re angry with me, and you have every right to be,” Bela says.

“Thanks for the permission.”

“I was _young,_ Dean. I had… grandiose ideas about what my life would be like.”

“Yeah, I remember. Money, popularity, sex with other guys.”

“How your life turned out is not _my_ fault, Dean.”

“I never said it was, I know I’m responsible for my own damn life, but what you did was shitty, it was so shitty, Bela, and it hurt.”

Bela sighs. “I know. I left you with that lease, and you didn’t have anyone to turn to—”

“What do you want from me, Bela?” Dean’s suddenly just… exhausted.

“I don’t know. To apologize? Forgiveness?” Bela steps closer. “To start over? I’ve dated plenty in the past decade, nearly ended up married, once. None of those men were as kind, as loyal, and _fun_ as you, Dean.”

“That’s not me anymore,” Dean says, taking a step back. “I’m not who you’re looking for.”

“We don’t know that.”

“It doesn’t matter. I don’t want to start over. I’m seeing someone, I think,” Dean says, scrubbing a hand over his face. Why is he saying this out loud? “I mean we haven’t really… it’s pretty new, but I’m pretty sure I’m seeing someone.”

“But if you… weren’t seeing someone?”

“Honestly? Yeah, maybe I’d have come running back, Bela. But we wouldn’t be good together, it wouldn’t make me happy. The person I’m seeing now, he makes me happy.”

“ _He_.”

Dean shrugs. “He.”

“Is he perhaps the attractive man staring at us from the water fountain?”

Dean looks over and Castiel is indeed on the other side of the room, watching. To his credit, he feigns a sudden interest in the fountain, looking everywhere _but_ at Dean once he’s caught.

“Yeah, that’s Castiel. And I really like him. I could see myself loving him even, _soon,_ between you and me.”

“I see.”

“You and me didn’t work, Bela. Not really. If we had, things wouldn’t have ended like they did.”

“I suppose…”

“At the end of the day, I’m still a small town guy, and you’re still…”

“A big city girl?”

“Something like that.”

“Maybe. Who knows how soon I’ll suddenly be desperate to get out of here after my mother is feeling better,” Bela says, sighing sadly. “You’ve gotten rather good at expressing yourself, you know.”

“Don’t tell anyone.”

Bela smiles. “I won’t. I’ll see you around, Dean,” she says, giving him a hug and a quick kiss on the cheek. She walks away, head held high as always, and Dean watches as Castiel takes her exit as his cue to awkwardly meander over, looking a bit sheepish.

“Sorry about that,” Dean says.

“Ah… no, it’s fine. Old friends catching up and all that…”

“How much did you hear?”

“Just the parts that you yelled.”

“Ugh, fucking embarrassing. I hate when I end up in town gossip. Let’s get out of here, okay?”

Castiel nods and Dean waves at Sam, who was much closer than Castiel was and probably heard everything while he sorted out bingo paraphernalia.

“Thanks for coming by!” Sam calls as they walk past.

“Thanks for not giving me a single bingo, you damn jinx.” They stick their tongues out at each other like the adults they are, then Dean and Castiel are heading out into the night.

The ride to the inn is awkwardly silent, and it isn’t until the Impala is idling in the parking lot that Castiel finally speaks. “She wants you back, doesn’t she.”

Dean stares at the wheel. “She thinks she does. She doesn’t really, though… and she can’t have me either way.”

Castiel is quiet for a long moment. “And me? Can I… have you?”

Dean turns to look at Castiel, heart doing nervous somersaults in his chest. “You already do.”

The next few minutes are a complete blur. There’s movement, and kissing… a lot of kissing, and somehow Dean ends up in Castiel’s bed at the inn, shirt rucked up as high as it will go, pants and boxer briefs around his ankles. He’s moaning and squirming while Castiel sucks his dick like he paid for the privilege while Dean chants _Cascascas_ up to the ceiling, voice breaking when Castiel starts toying with his balls. Dean’s pretty sure Castiel is jacking himself, judging by the moans he’s making around Dean’s cock. Castiel’s tongue seems to be everywhere, swirling, licking, driving Dean up the wall.

“Cas, gonna come,” Dean whines, pulling himself away from Castiel’s mouth. He groans and comes as Castiel bites down on his inner thigh. “Fuck, fucking _fuck_.”

Castiel’s breath hitches, and Dean twitches when he feels come hitting his legs, orgasm-addled mind wishing it had been on his neck or face instead.

“Another time,” Castiel pants, and Dean realizes he said that last thought out loud.

“Sounds good,” Dean mutters.

 


	17. (Tuesday, October 6th)

In the morning, Dean wakes Castiel long enough to kiss him goodbye, then he drives home so he can leave out some dry food for the cats, change his clothes, and grab a book to read at work.

He spends the day tending customers and reading Of Grave Importance, the book where Jody and Donna try to solve the mystery of a house that holds dozens of ghosts, and try to save their hunter friend, Annie. Dean really liked Annie, she’d have made a good addition to Jody and Donna’s team if she hadn’t been murdered by a ghost.

“That’s some very fine work.”

Dean looks up from his book to see Cain, looking behind Dean at the mausoleum. “Oh, ah… thanks.”

“I’ve been curious about it, did you make that yourself?”

Dean nods. “I did. It’s for my parents, got their urn inside.”

“Just the one urn?”

“Uh… yeah. Bit of a drunken mishap.”

Cain leans in close. “When my Colette passed, her last wish was for her ashes to be scattered into the great Filbert River. On the day I was to carry out her final wish, I accidentally spilled half the urn in my driveway on my way to the car.”

Dean stares, mildly horrified.

“I think she would have found it quite funny,” Cain says, chuckling. “Anyway...” He taps the counter, where there’s a box of bandaids, a jar of whipped cream, and two small bungee cords waiting to be purchased. Dean absolutely does _not_ want to know if the items are related.

“I noticed you’ve been spending time with the new guy, Castiel,” Cain says while Dean is ringing up the items.

“Oh. Uh… yeah, we’re a thing, I think.”

“I think he’s very good for you, I’ve seen quite a change in you since he arrived.”

“He’s um… nice. I like him a lot,” Dean says. This is weird. Since when do he and Cain talk about Dean’s _romantic prospects_?

“Ah, he might mention a conversation we had a while back,” Cain says, looking uncharacteristically uncomfortable.

“About you wanting to double team him with Crowley? Yeah, he mentioned it.”

“So, no hard feelings?”

“Uh… I guess not?”

Cain gets his change and claps a hand on Dean’s shoulder. “Wonderful! Be seeing you, Dean.”

God, this job is weird.

  
  


*

  
  


Dean’s a little disappointed when he leaves and doesn’t find Castiel waiting for him, but he supposes he can’t expect to see him every night. Even if he maybe wants to.

There are also no cats waiting for him, but since he drove to work today, he’s not _totally_ surprised they’re not waiting to walk him home. Sometimes Dean wonders if his cats are actually humans who were cursed into feline form by an evil witch, and that’s why they seem to understand him so well.

Maybe Dean should lay off the Emmanuel Allen books.

  
  


*

**(Wednesday, October 7th)**

  
  


“Everybody Hates Hitler! That’s a fun one!”

Dean looks up from his book and raises his eyebrows when he sees Charlie setting three packages of Oreos and a gallon of vanilla ice cream onto the counter.

“Uh, yeah… I remember cringing at the title, but it turned out really interesting.”

“Jody and Donna kicking some evil magic Nazi ass!” Charlie leans on the counter, grinning. “I still can’t believe I didn’t know you were into SHE. I _love_ that series, I have all the books. I have a fan made Jody and Donna nightshirt!”

“Really?”

“I sleep in it all the time. I’m a big fan.”

“Same. I even got Emmanuel Allen’s sci-fi novels. And a book of poems he wrote.”

“Shut _up,_ ” Charlie says, slamming her hands down on the counter. To his credit, Dean only jumps a little. “I don’t even have that, there are like _no_ copies!”

“Got it on eBay, it’s even autographed.”

“Autographed… did you buy it like three or four years ago, from a girl selling her shit so she could go to Comic-Con?”

“Yeah?”

“You asshole, I was bidding against you!”

“Well in _that_ case…” Dean sticks his tongue out, blowing a raspberry.

“Well that settles it, I’ll be over after you close, I want a look at those poems.”

“And will you be needing your…” Dean looks down at the counter. “Your many, many Oreos?”

Charlie frowns. “Oh, yeah. I’ll definitely still be needing these. Glad I’m blessed with my monthly store credit.”

“Well not to be assuming anything based on your purchases, but… is something wrong?” Dean says, ringing the cookies up.

Charlie sighs. “A letter came to the house for Gilda, and it looked important… so I had to call her to get her forwarding address, because I didn’t have one…” Charlie glares down at the register. “This other woman answered her phone, and when I asked for Gilda she was all sweet and bubbly and yelled ‘honey, someone on your phone’! We’ve been broken up what, _five minutes_? And she’s already got a new girlfriend answering her stupid phone. Anyway. So… cookies and ice cream seemed in order.”

“Well, it’s on me then,” Dean says, bagging the items.

“Dude, you give me a thirty dollar credit every month, it’s _already_ on you.”

“Well, save it for later. These are Pity Cookies.”

“Yayyy, Pity Cookies…”

“If you have any left when I get home in two hours, maybe we can make cookies and cream milkshakes.”

Charlie smiles. “I’ll see what I can do.”

  
  


*

  
  


Wednesday night is spent with Charlie. They make milkshakes in John’s old blender using Charlie’s Oreos and ice cream with Dean’s milk, and Charlie excitedly reads through Dean’s copy of No Pain Without Wonder: Poems by Emmanuel Allen. She absolutely bawls over one of the love poems, and to cheer her up Dean digs out his sketchbook to show her his Jody and Donna sketches. Dean’s style is more cartoony than realistic, which Charlie is very excited about. She forgets her tears immediately, flipping through the drawings and spending twenty minutes unsuccessfully trying to convince Dean to refine them and put them on a shirt printing website.

“Come on, Ash is _great_ with Photoshop, he could probably color these…”

Dean snorts. “I’ll think about it.”

“Liar,” Charlie says, grinning and drinking from her second shake. “This is so awesome, I had no idea you were such a big geek. I mean we were into Star Wars when we were young, but who wasn’t, you know?”

“I’m not a _geek_.”

“Just an Emmanuel Allen fanboy?”

“ _Maybe_. Can’t wait for the next book. Rereading the series is just making me want a new story.”

“Well, he’s published about once every twelve to eighteen months since the series started, so we _are_ due for one. Any big hopes for book eleven?”

“Well, rereading Everybody Hates Hitler has me wanting more of Aaron and his golem, but… I dunno. As long as Jody and Donna are in, I’m in.”

“Same! I can’t wait for the next book. You, me, Jo, Ash, and Maddy are _so_ starting that book club.”

“Uh, I’m not sure if I—”

“Come on, a book club is just friends talking about a book, there doesn’t have to be tea and finger sandwiches or whatever you’re picturing,” Charlie says.

“Shows what you know, I was picturing hot chocolate and cookies. Which… actually doesn’t sound so bad.”

“Pajamas and slippers too?”

“We’re in our thirties.”

“So?”

“Aren’t we a little _old_ for pajama parties?”

“I had Jo and Sam over for one just last month.”

“Really?”

“Hell yeah! We watched Back to the Future and ate s’mores!”

“Honestly, that sounds pretty damn fun.”

“Well, you miss a lot being a cranky old cat lady.”

“Hey, I’m getting out more.”

“I know,” Charlie says, smiling wide, “and it’s awesome.”

  
  


*

**(Thursday, October 8th)**

  
  


On Thursday, Dean’s reading his copy of Bloodlines, which is all about Jody and Donna going to Chicago and discovering the city is run by five monster families. It’s a bit of a departure from the other novels, which mostly take place in smaller towns, and for once it doesn’t really end with Jody and Donna solving the issue at hand.

He’s not too far into his reread when he happens to glance at the store’s window, startling when he sees Castiel looking both ways before crossing the empty highway. As he gets closer, Dean can see Castiel’s hair is in total disarray, he’s wearing pajamas under his trench coat, and he has on slippers. He glances at the clock as Castiel reaches the store, eyebrows shooting up when he sees that it’s after two in the afternoon.

“Uh… hey, Cas,” Dean says when Castiel gets inside.

Castiel mutters something incoherent, heading straight for the coffee maker.

“Crowley out of coffee?”

Castiel grunts something as an affirmative.

Dean grins. “Not very cheerful today, are you?”

Castiel glares in a way that reminds Dean of his cats.

Dean grins wider. “Wanna make out?”

Castiel clutches his coffee cup, drinking steadily. God, that must be burning his mouth.

“Tell you what, that’s on the house.”

Castiel continues to glare as he drinks the entire cup of coffee, then he drops the cup in the garbage and shuffles right back out of the store and across the highway.

Damn, that was fucking adorable.

  
  


*

  
  


Castiel comes back at five, looking a great deal more put together. He’s dressed in regular clothes, and he doesn’t look like he wants to burn Dean’s store to the ground.

Dean smiles. “Heya, Cas.”

“Hello, Dean.”

“Feeling more… alert?”

“Yes, much. I was on a roll with writing last night, stayed up about eight hours later than I meant to, then I was woken up by Crowley and his son having a shouting match about who lost the newspaper.”

“Aw, poor little bunny.”

“Yes, well… I came to apologize for being so rude this morning.”

“Afternoon.”

“Right. Anyway, I’m sorry, I hope I didn’t hurt you with my abrasive demeanor.”

“No harm, you were surly. You know how I’m a fan of surly.”

“So, then… I _don’t_ need to make it up to you?”

Dean leans forward across the counter. “Well, what did you have in mind? Maybe I _do_ need you to make it up to me.”

“Ah, feeling wounded after all?”

“Sure am.” Dean tries to pout, but he keeps smiling.

“I thought perhaps I would take you up on your earlier offer to… make out.”

Dean grins, gesturing to the gap between the counter and the wall so Castiel can come back there with him. There’s not a whole lot of room behind the counter, but there’s enough.

“Got a lot of writing done then, huh?” Dean says, pulling Castiel close.

“I did. I expect I’ll be done with the story before too long. I’d made a good deal of progress before I left Los Angeles, and now things are going so much faster.”

“Well, I can’t wait to read it,” Dean says, leaning in.

Castiel gives Dean a quick peck on the lips. “I hope you’ll like it. I think you will. Maybe.”

“Only one way to find out, yeah?” Dean smooths his hands down Castiel’s sides, smiling when it pulls a shudder from Castiel.

“I suppose so.”

“In the meantime,” Dean mutters, bringing their lips together.

Dean owns this store, he manages the store, he’s the only one working in the store. And yet, somehow he feels like he’s breaking a rule, like he has a boss that will come in and fire him for sucking on Castiel’s neck during business hours. It gives him a small thrill, feeling like he could get in trouble.

He licks into Castiel’s mouth, grinning into the kiss when he tastes Ellen’s marionberry preserves. Castiel presses up against him, hips rocking, fingers slipping under Dean’s flannel shirt.

“Really, Cas? Gonna feel me up?”

“Evidently,” Castiel says, opening the button on Dean’s jeans. “Would you like me to stop?”

“You could, or…” Dean pulls his zipper open.

Castiel grins, something pleased and predatory as he slips his hand into Dean’s boxers. That, of course, is when the door to the store opens, and god damn _Sam_ walks in, heading right for the toiletries. He doesn’t seem to have noticed Dean and Castiel at the counter, so Castiel quietly zips Dean’s pants back up and redoes the button before taking a step back.

“Yeah,” Sam says from behind the shelf, “I saw you both.”

Castiel sighs, kissing Dean on the cheek. “I’m probably going to make it an early night, maybe I’ll see you tomorrow?”

Dean nods and reaches out to smooth Castiel’s hair. “Maybe we can pick up where we left off.”

Castiel smiles and steals one more kiss before he leaves.

When Sam comes up to the register, he’s holding Midol, a box of tampons, and four Snickers bars.

“I don’t even know how to react to this,” Dean says.

Sam rolls his eyes. “Har, har, har. They’re for Jo. She sent me some aggressive texts demanding I help her out. I can’t believe you were about to get _blown_ in this store, Dean, that’s so gross.”

“Actually I think he was just going to give me a hand job…”

“You’d better hope Mom and Dad weren’t watching.”

Dean glances behind himself over to the mausoleum. “Oh _God_ , Sam.”

Sam smirks, slapping his items down on the counter and pulling out his wallet.

“Oh, you’re actually _paying_ for these?” Dean says.

“Dick.”

“ _You’re_ the dick, you couldn’t show up _after_ I had an orgasm?”

“Sorry, next time I’ll try to psychically sense you’re having public sex _before_ coming into the store.”

“That’s all I ask.”

 


	18. (Friday, October 9th)

The problem with rereading a favored book or series, is eventually one reaches the end. Dean can’t help but feel sad as he’s reading through Book of the Damned, the tenth and most recent novel in Sheriffs Hunting Evil. Jody and Donna stumble across an evil book of spells and have to search for a way to destroy it while escaping the creepy family trying to track it down. Dean brings the book in with him, and even with a high volume of customers, he easily finishes it by the afternoon. He’s frowning down at the cover when Castiel comes in around five.

“You look troubled.”

“I always get a little sad when I read through these and get to the part where there’s none left.”

“Do you reread them often?”

“Yeah… most of the time I just read from the used books shelf, but there’s plenty of time for reading. Plus, they’re my favorites. And I mean some of them have been out for years and years, so uh… yeah I’ve read them a lot.”

“You get so embarrassed talking about the series, yet it’s your favorite. Are you ashamed?” Castiel asks, looking a little sad.

“No, I’m…” Dean sighs. “Honestly? It’s just dumb guy crap. The series is really popular with younger women, I’m a guy in his thirties… I keep thinking you’re gonna make fun of me. Even though logically, I know that’s not something you’d do.”

Castiel narrows his eyes. “Someone made fun of you for liking the books.”

“Uh… kind of. One time. It was years ago, when I was with that guy Gordon. He saw them on my bookshelf, and started going on about how his little sister was into the books, and maybe I should hang out with her.”

“I see.”

“It was mean, and it sort of stuck with me, I guess. Even though I know he was just being a dick.”

“It’s frustrating, isn’t it? The little things that get to us even when we know they shouldn’t. I remember in my adolescence, a friend of mine made fun of the way my gums show when I smile a certain way.”

“Some friend.”

“Children are often impolite. For years I was self conscious about my smile, used to become so anxious on school picture day, worrying about how my smile would turn out. But… eventually I simply forgot to worry about it, and it stopped being a problem.”

“Well, I like your big gummy smile, Cas.”

“And I like your taste in books.”

“You’re a real peach, you know that?”

“Mhm. I’d like to purchase these,” Castiel says, setting down a couple of items on the counter.

Dean stares at the counter, feeling like his mouth is drying out and filling with saliva at the same time. Castiel has put two items on the counter; a box of condoms, and a bottle of Astroglide.

Castiel’s expression is fairly neutral as Dean rings up the items, like he’s buying a box of crackers instead of a box of god damn condoms. To use. With Dean.

It feels like it takes Dean ten minutes to finish the transaction. “I, uh… here…” he mutters, pushing the bag containing Castiel’s purchases across the counter.

“Might I borrow your house key?”

Dean’s on auto-pilot now, taking his keys out of his jeans, removing the key to the house from his Han Solo keychain, and handing it over to Castiel, who pockets it.

“Wonderful. I’ll see you after work, Dean,” Castiel says. He leaves the store with Dean still staring at him, jaw hanging open.

  
  


*

  
  


Even with a fair amount of customers to keep him busy, the last hour before close seems so very, _very_ long. It’s hard to focus on Becky Rosen asking if he’d consider stocking more ice cream flavors or Madison breaking a jar of pickles when he knows that Castiel is alone in his house doing God knows what with a bottle of lube.

“Dean?”

Dean realizes he’s been staring off into space. “Huh?” he says, looking at the five dollar bill Madison is holding out.

“For the gum. And the pickles.”

“Oh, uh… yeah,” he says, ringing her up, his movements slow and mechanical.

“Can I ask you something?”

Dean glances at the clock; three minutes until closing. “Fire away.”

“Does Sam like me?”

Oh, sweet Jesus.

“Uh, you mean…”

“I mean, does he _like_ me?”

“Oh geez, Maddy. I don’t know. Didn’t you guys go on a date last month?”

“We did, yeah, but I mean we mostly talked about your dad… anniversary of his death, and all. But he hasn’t made a… a _move_ since then. We see each other, we talk like we usually do… it feels like the date never happened.”

Alright, well beating around the bush isn’t going to get Dean home.

“Here’s the thing you have to understand about Sammy; he’s weird, and girls scare him. You’ve been here what, five years or so?” Dean asks. Madison nods. “Well, I don’t know how much you know… but Sam’s first girlfriend… gay. Sam’s second girlfriend, that was Jess, she left to go to nursing school, and broke things off rather than do long distance. His third girlfriend was this veterinarian in Springfield named Amelia, she dumped him for her ex and took their _dog._ Then there was Ruby. They fought like angry cats _and_ she lived an hour away, so that didn’t survive.”

“I knew about some of that, I guess.”

“He’s all skittish about women now. I mean when it comes to romance. I could be wrong, but if I had to _guess,_ I’d say he’s convinced himself that you aren’t interested.”

“So, what should I do?”

“Let him know you _are_ interested. Spell it out for him so he can’t convince himself otherwise. If you’re into him.”

“I am! He’s so…” Madison sighs. “He’s _sweet,_ and smart, and tall, and his _ass_ is—”

“Get out of my store, Maddy.”

  
  


*

  
  


Closing the store takes forever, and when Dean finally gets out it’s after seven. The short drive home is spent with Dean nervously drumming his fingers on the Impala’s steering wheel, trying to keep his thoughts on the road and not on the image of Castiel naked in his bed.

When he gets home, his cats are on the porch, already eating. Other than a short meow from Crocatta, they don’t really acknowledge him.

He opens the door, heart thumping hard in his chest. He’s not _scared,_ but there’s all this damn anticipation thrumming through him, leaving him worked up, jittery, and half hard. It takes every ounce of willpower he has to walk to his room instead of sprinting. The door to his room is closed, and Dean’s hand is actually _shaking_ as he reaches to turn the knob. He doesn’t know why he’s so nervous, this isn’t his first rodeo. Technically, it’s not even his first rodeo with Castiel, just a slightly different rodeo—

Dean needs to stop thinking about rodeos and open this fucking door. He finally turns the damn knob and opens the door to step inside.

Castiel is on the bed, flipping through Dean’s copy of the Emmanuel Allen book of poems. He’s also naked, long tan legs stretched out in front of him and crossed at the ankle. The box of condoms is on Dean’s nightstand, next to the opened bottle of lube.

“Hello, Dean,” Castiel says warmly.

“Uh… hey. Enjoying the uh… the book of poems?”

“It’s an interesting read.”

“I like em’.”

“To me they speak of a man afraid of living.”

“Yeah, well… I can relate.”

Castiel smiles. “So I’ve heard.” He sets the book on the floor and stands, all but _sauntering_ over to Dean. “You look a bit agitated.”

Dean glares. “Well, _yeah._ You showed up and put _ideas_ in my head, and then you just left me in the store. Mean.”

“You should have seen the look on your face.”

“Asshole.”

“I suppose you’ll have to get me back someday, yes?”

Dean reaches out to put his hands on Castiel’s waist, rubbing his thumbs against Castiel’s hipbones like he’s been itching to do since he walked in. Castiel hums, pleased, and hooks his fingers in the collar of Dean’s t-shirt to pull him into a kiss; filthy, open-mouthed, just what Dean’s been craving. With the hand not holding Dean’s collar Castiel reaches down, moving Dean’s hand behind himself, until Dean’s got a handful of his ass. Dean growls, rocking into Castiel and nipping at his bottom lip. It’s enticing, being fully clothed while Castiel is naked and _vulnerable_. Dean wonders how it feels for Castiel, he hopes he gets to find that out at some point.

His fingers trail toward the cleft of Castiel’s ass, and he groans when he feels where Castiel has left himself slick and open. For Dean.

“Fuck,” Dean hisses, dipping two fingers inside.

“Yes,” Castiel says, using his hand to push Dean’s fingers deeper, “that’s the idea.” He wraps his arms around Dean’s neck, rising up on the tips of his toes and panting softly in Dean’s ear while Dean keeps working his fingers.

“Can’t believe you borrowed my key so you could come over here and get yourself ready for me.”

“Twice. I started too early, and—” Castiel stops to moan when Dean spreads his fingers apart. “I realized I’d have to do it again by the time you got here.”

“Jesus, Cas.”

“And now that you’re here…” Castiel starts opening Dean’s jeans. “We have business to attend to.”

Dean kisses Castiel hard then nudges him toward the bed, pulling his fingers away so he can turn Castiel around. “Hands and knees, Cas.”

Castiel obeys, crawling onto the bed and tossing the box of condoms behind himself for Dean to catch. Dean practically rips the box to shreds in his haste to get it open, and most of the condoms fall on the floor.

“Everything alright back there?”

“Don’t you worry your pretty head about that,” Dean says, tearing open a condom wrapper. He pulls himself out of the front of his boxers, rolling the condom on carefully. Then he’s kneeling behind Castiel, dirty boots probably making a mess of his comforter. “You ready, Cas?” he says, smoothing his hands down Castiel’s back and rutting against his slick hole.

Castiel grabs the bottle of Astroglide, passing it back to Dean. “A bit more can’t hurt.”

Dean quickly applies lube to his condom-covered cock, then tosses the bottle on the bed.

“You should fuck me now, Dean.”

Sounds like a plan. Dean holds himself steady, pushing against Castiel’s loosened entrance until he starts to slip inside, slow but unrelenting until his boxers are pressed against Castiel’s backside, and Castiel is breathing noticeably faster.

“Oh, God… I’ve thought about this so many— _move,_ Dean, oh please move,” Castiel begs.

“I got you, Cas,” Dean says, gripping Castiel’s hips.

He pulls back and then moves forward, once, twice, building a rhythm, always returning to the warm clutch of Castiel’s body, forcing little gasps of pleasure out of both of them.

This feels too damn good. “Fucking damn it, Cas,” Dean says, slapping Castiel hard on the ass.

Castiel yelps, shoving himself back against Dean’s dick, spreading his knees wider.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Dean whines. The sight of his dick disappearing into Castiel over and over proves to be too much for Dean and he pulls out, squeezing his cock around the base before he can come.

Castiel looks behind himself at Dean. “Getting too excited?”

“No. Shut up,” Dean says, wincing when he releases himself.

“Mhmm.” Castiel lies on his back, legs open. “If you want to come, Dean, come. We can have sex again later, you know. I bought an entire box of condoms.”

“Well I still wanna last,” Dean says, crawling over Castiel. He folds a pillow in half, nudging at Castiel’s ass with it until he gets the picture and lifts himself up enough for Dean to get the pillow underneath.

“Mhmm, I bet,” Castiel says, pulling Dean down into a kiss.

Dean slides back inside, pushing in deep and loving the way it makes Castiel gasp into his mouth.

“You feel so good inside me, Dean,” Castiel moans, wrapping his legs around Dean’s waist.

“Yeah?”

“Yes, _oh,_ yes.” The way Castiel moans, raw and desperate, has Dean once again close to coming in no time. He can’t help it, fucking into Castiel just feels too damn good. He thrusts harder the closer he gets, and it just makes Castiel louder. He moans and hisses Dean’s name, over and over, unashamed.

“Shit, Cas, you sound amazing like this,” Dean says. He starts to reach a hand toward Castiel’s cock but Castiel’s way ahead of him, tensing and crying out and coming onto his stomach.

Fuck. Dean keeps his rhythm going, even as Castiel turns to jelly on the bed. He starts to slow, not wanting to overstimulate Castiel’s sensitive body, but Castiel lets out a little whine, eyes focusing on Dean’s.

“Keep fucking me until you come,” he insists.

And that’s what pulls Dean right over the edge, that hard, commanding tone rumbling from Castiel. He jerks his hips helplessly, burying his face in Castiel’s neck and probably smearing Castiel’s come all over his shirt.

“Shit,” Dean says, suddenly annoyed at all the clothes he still has on. He pulls his jacket off, then his shirt, flinging them onto the floor, anxious to feel more of Castiel’s skin against his. “That was awesome,” he says, kissing along Castiel’s neck.

“I didn’t realize you enjoyed being told what to do so much,” Castiel says, fingers gently stroking through Dean’s hair.

“What? No, I don’t.”

“Mhmm,” Castiel says, wincing a little when Dean pulls out. “I saw you, watched you _dissolve_ the instant I gave you an order.”

Dean rises up, sitting on his heels so he can tie off the condom and toss it in the little trash can in his room. “It was a coincidence!”

“Uh huh. Go get cleaned up, Dean.”

Dean nods, climbing off the bed and starting for the door. He stalls in the doorway, feeling a blush rise to his cheeks as he looks back at a grinning Castiel.

“That wasn’t… I was going to get cleaned up anyway.”

“Of course, Dean,” Castiel says, his smug grin remaining in place.

“Damn it,” Dean sighs, hiding a smile of his own while he’s slinking out of the room.


	19. (Saturday, October 10th)

Dean’s alarm goes off at seven and he groans, resisting the urge to chuck it across the room. Castiel is lying on Dean’s chest, and Dean squeaks when feels teeth on his nipple.

“Adorable,” Castiel mutters.

“Dick,” Dean moans as Castiel flicks the nipple with his tongue.

“Me? You’re the one with an alarm set for this ungodly hour for no reason.”

“Work calls.”

“No it doesn’t. Sam has the weekends now, remember? You’re not due anywhere until you go to the inn at ten.”

Dean slaps himself on the forehead. He checks his phone, not surprised to see two texts from Sam.

 **SAM - 10/10 - 6:02am:** Don’t forget to bring your toolbox to the inn, Crowley’s tools are shit.

 **SAM - 10/10 - 6:18am:** And don’t worry, I took over the store for Dad a few times, I can open it just fine. I’m even going in extra early.

“Sorry man,” Dean says, setting his alarm for nine. “Let’s go back to sleep.”

“That’s certainly an option.”

“I take it you have another idea?”

“Indeed,” Castiel says, crawling over Dean, kissing him soundly.

“Yeah, that’s a pretty good idea.”

They cling to each other, both naked and hard, kissing and groaning every time their dicks come in contact. Castiel glances meaningfully at the lube and condoms next to Dean’s alarm clock, and Dean grins.

“More ideas, huh?”

“Yes. Sex.”

“Mmm, you wanna fuck me, Cas?”

Castiel looks surprised. “I would like that very much.”

“You don’t gotta look so shocked, dude.”

“I apologize, I suppose I’ve been with too many men who thought being the penetrator meant having all the power.”

“First of all, that’s dumb. Second of all, why would I _want_ all the power?”

Castiel chuckles. “True, I think I received a few hints of that yesterday.”

“Shut up. I like you a lot, Cas, so don’t ever feel like you have to be anything other than what you want to be.”

Castiel’s thumb is tracing down Dean’s jaw. “I like you a lot too, Dean.”

“Cool. Then fuck me.”

Castiel takes his time, opening Dean with slick, patient fingers, showering Dean’s back with nips and kisses while Dean lets out happy little groans into his pillow. He could spend hours like this, sprawled out on his stomach, jolting at the sensation of Castiel’s knuckles dragging inside him.

“You’re incredible like this,” Castiel says.

“You’re not so bad yourself, buddy.” Dean feels Castiel’s tongue working against his rim and he curses, grinding his leaking dick against the bed. “You’re gonna make me come if you’re not careful,” he groans, canting his ass up.

Castiel’s tongue grows more insistent and Dean whines, idly wishing he had some flavored lube for Castiel instead of the regular stuff. It’s ridiculous how quickly this is getting Dean off, but it’s been a long, long time since anyone did this to Dean, and he’s dangerously close to the edge as he starts to get lost in the feeling of the wet muscle working him open.

“Cas,” he whines, feeling the needy sparking warmth of an impending orgasm, “I’m serious, I’m almost there, you gotta stop.”

Castiel doesn’t stop though, instead he grabs Dean’s ass with both hands, holding him open to get his tongue deeper.

“Fuck, Cas, oh fuck—”

Castiel pulls away just as Dean’s nearing the point of no return, snatching the condoms off the nightstand. A handful of seconds pass and then Dean feels him, blunt and heavy and sliding right inside where he’s stretched and waiting. Castiel groans low and filthy as he sinks all the way inside, both hands braced on the bed.

“Fuck, please, _please_ …”

Castiel fucks into Dean with hard, easy thrusts, one hand going to the back of Dean’s neck. “You feel so good, Dean.”

Dean wants to reply, but he’s too busy moaning shamelessly, chasing the feeling of Castiel hot and hard inside him. A minute or so goes by and then Castiel pulls out, urging Dean up onto his knees.

“Up, up,” Castiel says, kneeling and sitting back until he can pull Dean into his lap, chest warm against Dean’s back. He works a hand between them to push himself back into Dean, and Dean sits back with a sigh, twitching pleasantly at the pressure on his prostate.

They’re near the head of the bed, close enough for Castiel to grab hold of the sturdy headboard. He uses the leverage to fuck up into Dean with short, hard rolls of his hips, panting in Dean’s ear in a way that has Dean shuddering.

“So _good,_ Dean,” Castiel whispers.

“You bet your fucking ass it is,” Dean says, tipping his head to one side when he feels teeth at his neck.

Castiel moves a hand away from the headboard, bringing it down to Dean’s cock, thumb smearing the precome gathered at the head. “ _Cas_ ,” Dean whines when Castiel starts jacking him, “don’t stop.” He’s tense, body tiptoeing towards the edge of release while Castiel continues wringing pleasure from him like it’s his mission in life. He shoves up particularly hard, twisting his hand on the upstroke and Dean’s coming with a shout, head thrown back, eyes squeezed shut.

Castiel lets out what sounds a _lot_ like a sigh of relief before he’s coming too, arms wrapped tight around Dean.

“Aww,” Dean pants, “were you waiting for me to finish?”

“ _Yes,_ ” Castiel says, frantically kissing the back of Dean’s neck, “and it wasn’t easy.”

Dean rocks in Castiel’s lap, pulling a groan and a shudder out of them both. “Such a gentleman, Castiel.”

He can almost hear Castiel’s eyes roll behind him.

“I try.”

  
  


*

  
  


After a handsy shower and a pile of french toast, Dean and Castiel leave for the inn, holding hands and grinning at each other like a couple of kids in love, which… okay, no maybe not quite yet.

When they arrive, Castiel retreats to his room to get some writing done, while Dean buzzes about the inn doing odd jobs for Crowley for several hours. Crowley is snippy and bossy, but he gives Dean a few fingers of some damn good scotch, so that’s nice. At one point Dean catches Crowley smoking a cigarette, so he “accidentally” bumps into him to pick his pocket and throw out the rest of the pack. Crowley curses up a storm when he realizes what happened, but he still pays Dean for the day and tells him he’ll see him next Saturday.

Dean’s tempted to go see Castiel before he goes, but he has no idea what Castiel is like when he’s writing; maybe he doesn’t take kindly to interruptions. Instead Dean heads across the street to Winchester General Store, immediately amused by the sight of Sam behind the counter, dusting the mausoleum.

“Looking after the folks, I see,” Dean says.

“Just being a dutiful son. How was the inn?”

“Fine. Crowley sure gets mad when you throw away his cigarettes though.”

“You _didn’t_.”

“Hey I’m just buying him some more time on this planet.”

“Wow, I didn’t know you cared.”

“I’m a caring guy.”

“So, uh… Maddy asked me out.” Sam looks all awkward, like he’s embarrassed or something, the fucking weirdo.

“That’s cool, you guys finally gonna have that second date?”

“I think so. I like her, I was just too afraid to make a move, you know? Baggage, I guess.”

Dean smirks and munches on a beef stick. “You don’t say.”

“That’ll be a dollar fifty-nine.”

“Put it on my tab,” Dean says.

 


	20. (Saturday, October 31st)

The next three weeks go by uneventfully… but in a good way. Dean spends his weekdays at the store, his Saturdays at the inn, and Sundays at home lazing around in his boxers. More often than not Castiel spends the night, and Dean wakes tangled with him and a pile of cats. Every handful of days Dean will even show up at The Roadhouse with Castiel and be social for a few hours.

He’s eating and sleeping better than he has in years, and he’s finally starting to feel like he’s _home._

Today is Halloween, and Dean has plans to go to the community center with Castiel in a few hours for the party being thrown. He’s opting out of wearing a costume this time around, but maybe next year. Baby steps.

Right now he’s sitting on his front porch, brushing kinks out of Lamia’s fur with a cat brush he ordered online. She’s making it difficult, though, because she’s enjoying being brushed so much that she’s not keeping still at all, instead she’s flipping and flopping all over the porch and purring loudly. The other cats are lined up on the porch railing, snoozing away in the chilly October air.

When Dean finally finishes brushing the cat he shakes the brush loose, startling when he realizes Castiel is in front of him.

Castiel looks… odd. He’s in his black peacoat and Dean’s old boots, but he’s also in a pair of flannel pajamas that don’t match; top half blue and grey, bottom half green. His car is parked next to Dean’s.

“Wow, sorry,” Dean says, “I guess I was in some kind of cat brushing trance. Hope you weren’t standing there that long.”

Castiel shakes his head. He’s clutching a manila envelope, and he looks… scared. “I was just at a print shop in Eugene.”

“Uh… dressed like that?”

Castiel glances down at his clothes. “Apparently. I’ve finished my book. It hasn’t been proofed yet, but… I wanted you to read it. I’d…” Castiel sighs. “I know we have somewhere to be, but…”

“Hey, it’s fine,” Dean says, standing. He ushers Castiel inside while Lamia tries to squeeze in on the railing with her siblings.

They sit on the couch, and Castiel holds out the thick bundle of papers for Dean to take. Dean sets the manila envelope in his lap, bending the metal tabs at the top so he can open it.

“Are you sure you want me to read this? You look pretty fucking spooked, man.”

“I’m just… unsure of how you’ll react.”

“Have you slept?”

“I will. Soon.”

“Dude...” Dean sets the envelope on the couch. “I’m not going to be able to read this with you tired and freaked out next to me.” Castiel lets out an adorable whine of impatient protest as Dean grabs him by the hand and drags him to his room. He pulls Castiel’s jacket off and manhandles him onto the bed.

“If I weren’t so tired, this would be pretty exciting,” Castiel grumbles as Dean starts untying his shoes.

Dean grins. “If you wanna fuck, just say the word, Cas.”

“I think I would be too tense to enjoy it. You’ll come tell me when you’re finished, right?”

“Sure, baby,” Dean says, kissing Castiel gently.

“I really hope you like it, Dean,” Castiel says, already starting to fall asleep. He’s out by the time Dean folds the comforter over him. Poor guy, so worked up worrying Dean won’t like his story. Dean would be lying if he said he wasn’t flattered, though, it’s kind of awesome to have his opinion matter so much to someone. He gently closes his bedroom door and pads back to the couch.

He’s pretty excited about the envelope waiting for him, he’s been reading through all the campy old westerns on the used shelf at his store for the past few weeks, he’s ready for something different.

He pulls the stack of papers out, eyebrows knitting together in confusion as he reads over the top page.

  


**Emmanuel Allen**

**Sheriffs Hunting Evil**

**Book 11 - Draft**

  


What… the… hell?

Dean reads over the top page three times, but the content doesn’t change. He’s clearly missing something here. Why would Castiel write lengthy fan fiction for a series he’s never even read? That has to be what this is. But why would it say Emmanuel Allen?

Either it’s a weird joke, or...

Castiel _can’t_ be…

Dean can’t have been sleeping with his favorite fucking author without knowing it, right?

He sits back against the couch, combing through their many interactions over the past two months. The very first time they met, Dean was reading an Emmanuel Allen book, and Castiel was clearly interested. Castiel blushed when he saw Dean’s tattoo. And when he heard how much Dean paid for the book of poems. And when he heard about Dean’s fan art. Castiel has made it clear he had something he wasn’t ready to share, and he’s been really nervous about finishing this book.

Dean glances back in the direction of his bedroom. He doesn’t know how to react to this. It’s kind of a big deal. Dean’s a _really_ big fan.

A minute or two passes, and though his mind is still whirling, Dean does what any fan would do when given an advanced copy for the next book of their favorite series; he starts fucking reading it.

  


 

*

  


 

The book is… awesome. Maybe even Dean’s favorite, though it’s hard to compete with book four. This one is about Jody and Donna encountering a hunting duo while on the trail of some vampires. The hunters are named Claire and Alex, and they’re two teenaged orphans with fascinating and tragic backstories that are delved into just enough to have Dean wanting to know more. The four women take on a large vampire nest threatening an entire town, and come out on the other side of the ordeal battered but intact, old bonds strengthened, new bonds forged. The two teams part ways at the end of the book, but Dean has a feeling Claire and Alex will be back, and it almost seems like this might be the set-up for a companion series.

Any doubts Dean had about Castiel’s identity are long gone by the end of the book; the writing style is so clearly Emmanuel Allen.

Emmanuel _Fucking_ Allen.

Castiel is Emmanuel Allen.

Dean knows Emmanuel Allen.

Dean had _sex_ with Emmanuel Allen.

He’s not really sure what to do now that he’s finished the book. This changes things, it has to. They’ve spent all this time together with things a bit lopsided, Dean didn’t really have the whole picture. Now he does.

He’s not exactly angry. Castiel was pretty upfront about the fact that he had something he wasn’t sharing, and Dean’s well aware of Castiel’s hang-ups about writing, why he uses a pen name in the first place.

But still… this is weird. Dean’s a _fan,_ that’s weird.

He finds himself back in his room, perched on his bed, all of his Emmanuel Allen books piled in his lap. He shakes Castiel awake, watching as the sleep clears from his beautiful blue eyes. The sleepiness gives way to affection, then fear as Castiel looks at the pile of books, then back at Dean.

He’s afraid Dean won’t want him anymore.

What an idiot.

“Hey,” Dean says, offering a smile. “Will you sign my books?”

Castiel stares, jaw hanging open, eyebrow quirked up like he thinks Dean is joking.

Dean holds up a pen. “Make em’ out to Dean.”


	21. (Still Saturday, October 31st)

Dean watches, spellbound as Castiel signs each book with the same dynamic handwriting Dean knows from the signed book of poems. Four sci-fi novels, ten Sheriffs Hunting Evil books, one science fiction anthology containing an Emmanuel Allen story, and the already signed book of poems.

It’s probably weird for Dean to ask the man he’s seeing for his _autograph_ on sixteen books, but oh well. No relationship is perfect. Castiel signs each one as Emmanuel Allen and makes each book out to Dean, the tense line of his shoulders relaxing incrementally with each book. When he signs the book of poems, he adds a little heart next to Dean’s name and Dean smiles wide.

“My friends are gonna be so jealous when they see my collection,” Dean says, grinning happily as he stacks his books next to the bed.

“Are you going to tell them?”

“About you? Not if you don’t want me to. You’ve never done so much as an in-person book signing, so I’m thinking being fawned over isn’t really your thing.”

Castiel’s hands fidget in his lap. “It’s not that, really, I was more worried about it getting back to my family. They find this sort of thing so very frivolous, I was afraid they would find out and demand I stop.” Castiel sighs. “I was afraid I would obey them.”

“Yeah, well… that’s your old life. That’s _before._ Now you get to decide what you’ll do based on what _you_ want.”

“Perhaps I’ll think on it before the book comes out.”

“When will that be?”

“Barring any major revisions, probably early next year. Metatron Star Publishing isn’t a very big company.”

“ _Revisions_? Oh man, I hope not. I wouldn’t change a thing. Except for all the typos. And at one point near the end you referred to Donna as _Deanna_.”

Castiel groans, burying his face in his hands.

“Guess you just had me on your mind,” Dean says, leering.

“Thankfully, I have an eagle-eyed editor at the publishing company. But you, uh… you enjoyed the story?”

“Yes!” Dean yelps excitedly, startling Castiel. “I really liked Claire and Alex, I hope they show up again!”

“I had considered delving into their backstories in a separate series… I had some ideas for Claire’s origin that I was excited about.”

Dean grins. “Ohh, like what?” Castiel opens his mouth to reply, and Dean throws his hands up defensively. “Wait, no! Don’t tell me!” Castiel closes his mouth. “Okay, okay, no, tell me, I wanna know.”

Castiel’s eyes are practically in his hairline. “Are you… sure?”

“Let’s hear it.”

“I was thinking that Claire lost her parents… to angels.”

“Get out of here!” Dean exclaims, so excited he punches Castiel in the shoulder.

Castiel winces, rubbing his shoulder. “Her father was willingly possessed by an angel, and her mother was killed by a rogue angel. There’s more to it than that, but… that’s the gist.”

“Cas, that sounds _great,_ I’m already excited,” Dean says. Castiel lets out a sigh of relief. “What, you were afraid I wouldn’t like it?”

“It’s not that I’m afraid of criticism… I’ve read some rather scathing reviews of my works from both long-time critics and long-time fans, but you’re… you.”

“Your number one fan!”

Castiel frowns. “You’re more than that, Dean. I never would have started… _this_ if I saw you as… a fan, I hope you know that.”

“Don’t worry, I’m not thinking you’re just an egotist getting off at me worshipping the ground you walk on.”

“I wasn’t aware you were worshipping me,” Castiel says dryly.

“I’m _not,_ shut up. I just meant… you don’t have to worry about me thinking I’m just a groupie to you. I know you’re not like that.”

“Do writers have groupies?”

“Sure! I bet that Harry Potter woman has a ton of them.”

“You do realize my books aren’t anywhere _near_ as popular as the works of JK Rowling…”

“Oh, so you’re _not_ filthy rich? Well then damn, all my dreams of being a trophy boyfriend… gone.”

Castiel rolls his eyes. “I'm wealthy enough to buy your store and turn it into a Victorian doll museum at my leisure.”

“God damn, Cas, that’s the most horrible thing anyone’s ever said to me,” Dean says, hand over his heart. “So… if you’ve got the money, why are you still living at the inn?”

“Well… I really like it out here. The people are kind, it’s quiet… and while the lack of nightlife is new, I’ve never been a… party animal.”

“So…?”

“Afraid to put down roots, I suppose. But I told myself I would find a house once the book was done, and… the book is done.”

“Done and _awesome_.”

“Perhaps…” Castiel is blushing. At least Dean finally gets the blushing thing. Dean has been openly fanboying over Castiel without knowing it since the day they met.

“It’s not like you have to buy a house, man. Plenty of places rent. Places that have kitchens, and multiple rooms, and no caretakers having shouting matches with their son every day…”

“I would so love a garden to work on next spring,” Castiel says, sighing dreamily. “I’ll look online tomorrow. I’m sorry I made you miss the Halloween party, Dean. I was out of sorts, and I’d been awake for fifty hours, and I so needed for you to finally know the truth.”

“If you don’t think I’d ditch a party in a _heartbeat_ in order to be the first person to read a new Emmanuel Allen book, you haven’t been paying enough attention.”

  
  


 

*

(Sunday, November 1st)

  
  


 

It’s rude, Dean knows it’s rude, but still he finds himself shaking Castiel awake at one in the morning.

“Dean?” Castiel says, confused, “Is everything alright?”

“Yeah, I just… there’s something I need to ask you.”

“Of course, Dean, what is it?” Castiel’s voice is sleepy, but concerned.

“Is Jody and Donna’s relationship platonic?”

“I… what?”

“Well, there’s this whole group of people online that see Jody and Donna as more than just… sisters in arms… we— uh, _they_ think there’s a lot of romantic, uh… subtext.”

“You woke me up to ask if Jody and Donna are lovers?”

“Yeah.”

“Ah, that’s…” It’s pretty dark in the room, but Dean doesn’t have to be able to _see_ Castiel to know that he’s fighting the urge to laugh. “I think that reader interpretation is a very beautiful and key element of the ah… process.”

“Dude, no, none of that ‘it’s whatever you want it to be’ crap, you gotta tell me.”

“I don’t want to damage your view of the characters or their relationship…”

“ _Cas_.”

Castiel sighs. “Very well. In my mind, Jody and Donna have a platonic relationship.”

Dean’s glad it’s too dark for Castiel to see the disappointment on his face. “Oh. Well, that’s kinda what I figured, that’s c—”

“ _However,_ it has never been my intention for them to remain that way.”

“So, you’re saying…”

“I’ve always planned for their relationship to evolve into something romantic by the time I close out the series.”

“I knew it! I fucking _knew_ —”

“Keep in mind, I’ve never shared this information with anyone. Should this tidbit show up online, I’ll know who to blame.”

“I would _never_ blab. Come on. I’ll even tell you a secret of mine.”

“Why?”

“Insurance for you!”

“Dean, that’s really not necessary.”

“So, you _don’t_ want to hear about my panty fetish.”

The lamp on Dean’s nightstand flicks on, and Castiel turns toward him, alert. “You have my attention.”

  
  


 

*

  
  


 

It happens again in the shower.

“So, what happens to ghosts when they burn away?”

Castiel pauses in soaping himself. “Pardon?”

“Well, ghosts are spirits that didn’t move on, and when they’re salted and burned, their spectral form is destroyed.”

“Y-yes…”

“So, what happens when the spirit is destroyed? Is the soul unmade? Does it go to Hell? Does it go to Heaven?”

“I… uh… I would say that it goes to wherever it was intended to go prior to the person’s death, had they simply passed on to the other side and not become a ghost.”

“So that little girl in Provenance, she went to Hell? I mean I know she was a kid, but… she was pretty damn evil _before_ she died and started haunting her family portrait.”

“I apologize, I have never really considered that angle, I wasn’t really thinking about Heaven and Hell when I wrote the first books.”

“Hey it’s cool, you don’t gotta have all the answers.”

  
  


 

*

  
  


 

And again during breakfast.

“When Jody killed the shifter alpha, did that end the line of shapeshifters?”

Castiel smiles, pouring more maple syrup on his french toast. “No, why would it? He was the first shapeshifter, but he sired many. They will continue to be born and grow as they always have.”

“Oh, right… that makes sense.”

  
  


 

*

  
  


 

And while Dean is raking his yard.

“What are Jody and Donna’s middle names? It’s never come up in the books, but I bet you have them picked out.”

Castiel is sitting on the steps of the porch, scratching Okami behind her ears. “I do. Jody Elizabeth Mills, Donna August Hanscum.” Castiel has this cute, secretive smile on his face and Dean grins, leaning against his rake.

“Those are your sisters’ middle names, aren’t they.”

Castiel chuckles. “You caught me. Hannah Elizabeth Novak, and Hael August Novak.”

“Didn’t you tell me that your sister had read all the books when we first met?”

“Hael, the youngest. She loves them.”

“And she doesn’t know you wrote them?”

“No.”

“Man, you are missing out on an awesome pranking opportunity.”

“Am I?”

“Put a character named Hael Novak in your book that looks just like your sister! She’d freak out!”

Castiel lets out a full body laugh at that, startling Okami into jumping off the porch. “I like the way you think, Dean.”

  
  


 

*

  
  


 

And yet again after Dean initiates a Sunday afternoon makeout session the couch.

“What’s Purgatory like?”

Castiel pauses in nibbling up along Dean’s neck. “Hmm?”

“Book six mentions that monsters go to Purgatory when they die. What’s it like? What about Heaven and Hell?”

“I haven’t really decided, honestly. I actually rather regret adding Purgatory as a destination for monster souls.”

“Why?”

“Seems a little unbalanced. Western culture paints the afterlife as a reward for actions taken in life; you do good, you go to a good place. You do evil, you go to an evil place.”

Dean nods, lying back against the arm of his couch.

“Well,” Castiel continues, “the implication of Jody’s conversation with the shifter alpha was that _all_ monster souls go to the same place. But some monsters never hurt anyone, and some of them only hurt others because they’re feral by design, they have no sense of right and wrong. Then some monsters choose to do evil.”

“Yeah?”

“I don’t know that I like the idea that they all go to the same place. I’ve decided on a system that says human actions have karmic weight, but monster actions and souls are all the same.”

“Huh.”

“And a great deal of the monsters Jody and Donna face _were_ at one point human.”

“Wow, that’s a bummer.”

“I agree. I’m not quite sure how to undo that.”

“So… on a scale of one to ten, how annoying are these questions I keep asking?”

“I’m not annoyed.”

“Liar.”

“Very few people know who I am, it’s not often I find myself discussing my works openly. It’s nice, and good practice for if I ever decide to… meet fans.”

Dean nods, considering. “Alright. So… demons. Where does the sulphur they leave behind come from? Is it falling out of their hair like smelly dandruff, or what?"

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know what you might be thinking, but no, that's not how I expect Supernatural to end.


	22. (Monday, November 2nd)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for depressing discussions of past character death.

Castiel bursts into the store at around three on Monday, looking chipper, but his face falls once he sees Dean.

“What happened?”

Dean knows how he must look, sitting on the floor in front of his counter, eyes wet, urn out of the mausoleum and in his hands. He probably should have locked the door or something.

“Hey,” Dean croaks, “I was just… uh.” He sighs. “Crying. I was just sitting here crying.”

Castiel kneels in front of him. “Talk to me.”

“My mom’s dead, but that was nearly three decades ago…”

“I’m afraid I don’t understand,” Castiel says, glancing at the urn.

“She died on November second, that’s today.”

“ _Oh…_ oh, Dean.”

“Anniversary just kinda snuck up on me this year.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not much to say, really. I was four. I don’t even really remember her. I remember her hair smelled like something fresh… cucumbers or melons… and I remember she used to sing Hey Jude to me when I was upset, but I don’t remember what she sounded like. I remember when she died… it was a fire. Bad wiring, freak accident, yadda yadda… anyway, when she died, it was like a light bulb went out in a room during the day. My world didn’t suddenly become dark and unfathomable, but… it became less bright, and that light bulb never got replaced, but I got used to it. And my dad…” Dean sighs, giving the urn a little shake. “Have you ever had a loved one die?”

Castiel shakes his head. “Relatives… none I was close to.”

“You kind of get past it eventually. I mean, like I said, I barely remember my mom. Dad’s more recent, so that’s harder, but I’m doing better. But here’s the thing; whether I get past it or not, they’re dead. Whether I’m happy or sad, awake or asleep, my parents are still dead. I can live another year, or another fifty years, and they’ll be dead for the rest of my life either way. Sometimes that thought just kind of knocks me on my ass.”

“Tell me what I can do for you.”

Dean fishes around in his pocket and holds up the key to the front doors. “Can you lock the door and put the closed sign up?”

  


*

  


They sit on the floor for over an hour, not really talking much. Sometimes Dean cries, sometimes he just stares off into space while Castiel’s fingers card through his hair. At around four-thirty Sam shows up, knocking incessantly until Castiel finally gets up and lets him in. Sam takes one look at Dean and tells him to go home, promising he’ll finish the day and close the store himself. Dean doesn’t put up a fight, it’s not like he was actually working.

Sam tends to do pretty well with November second. He mourns the mother he never got to have, but it’s not his fault that he doesn’t feel all that connected to her, that he doesn’t know what it was like the day Dean woke up and realized he’d forgotten the sound of her voice. But he knows the day is hard on Dean, and he tries to be a shoulder to lean on when Dean is willing. Today he’s doing that by getting Dean to go home a few hours early.

Castiel drives Dean home in the Impala, and Dean’s too mopey to even point out how rarely he lets anyone drive his car.

When they get to the house Dean looks down at his lap and realizes he’s still holding the urn with his parents inside. Jesus. He needs to get it the fuck together. He groans, cradling the damn thing in one arm while he climbs out of the car. His litter of cats isn’t waiting for him on the porch, but he can see Rugaru chasing Lamia up a tree across the yard.

“Do you want to take a nap?” Castiel says once they’re inside.

“Yeah. Probably shouldn’t, though. It’ll just be harder to sleep tonight if I do. Man, I miss being young and not worrying about my damn _sleep schedule,_ ” Dean growls, plunking the urn next to his keys on the coffee table.

“What would you like to do, then?”

“Read old newspaper articles about my mom’s death while drinking whiskey and crying about the ten years I lost with my dad.”

Castiel raises an eyebrow. “No, I don’t think we’ll be doing that.”

Dean sighs, dropping down on the couch and closing his eyes. “I know. That’s just the kind of shit I usually do.”

“I could tell you about a book I scrapped,” Castiel says, sitting down next to him.

“Scrapped?” Dean says, opening one eye to look at Castiel. “Why?”

“Because it was terrible.”

“Do you still have it?”

“No. But I recall the plot very, very well. Jody and Donna are on the trail of a ghost that’s possessing mannequins and dummies.”

“Uh…”

“The ghost is of a woman who died while a group of men were playing a cruel prank on her. She was upset and trying to leave, they grabbed her to stop her but she fell and hit her head, and that was how she died. Jody and Donna track down her remains to salt and burn them, but it doesn’t put her spirit to rest.”

“Why not?”

Castiel sighs. “Her _kidney_ is in her sister, and the spirit is tethered to it.”

“Her… kidney.”

“Yes.”

“She had… a haunted kidney.”

“Yes.”

“Okay, so what did they do?”

“Well, as you can imagine, Jody and Donna are not keen on the idea of cutting a haunted kidney out of an innocent woman. As they’re trying to come up with a solution, the spirit attacks them, and she accidentally kills her sister in the process, which destroys the kidney and frees her spirit.”

“Uh… wow, that’s…”

“Convenient? Contrived? _Terrible_?”

Dean smirks. “Do you really not have a copy?”

“You can’t read it, Dean.”

“Come _on,_ ” Dean says, poking Castiel, “I thought you wanted to cheer me up.”

“Yes, and I clearly have.”

“I’ll let you read my Jody and Donna fanfiction.”

Castiel takes a moment to consider. “I’d forgotten about that… you know, legally, I really shouldn’t read it.”

“So… that’s a no.”

“For now. I must admit, though, I am _terribly_ curious. Is it of an… explicit nature?”

“Are you asking if I wrote porn?”

“Yes.”

“ _No_.”

Castiel chuckles. “There’s no need to sound so offended, plenty of writers dabble in… erotica.”

“Oh God, Cas, please stop talking.”

  


*

  


They end up watching episodes of Worst Cooks in America on Netflix while Castiel gives Dean a foot rub, then Dean makes chicken and baked potatoes for dinner. When it’s time to sleep, Dean kicks the sleeping cats out of his bed so that he and Castiel can trade slow, easy handjobs, bringing each other to completion amid soft kisses and muttered endearments.

It’s the first time Dean hasn’t ended the anniversary of his mother’s death by either drinking or crying himself to sleep.

  


  


 


	23. (Thursday, November 5th)

“Guess what I’ve purchased?”

Dean looks up from where he’s cleaning out the store’s microwave. “Is it a double-ended dildo? Because I’ve always wanted to try one of those.”

“Not even close, but I will make a note of that.” Castiel holds up a smartphone, grinning wide. “I have a phone again.”

“Oh man,” Dean says, standing and snatching the phone out of Castiel’s hand, “I can’t wait for you to send me naked pictures.”

“I hadn’t actually been planning on doing that…”

Dean enters his information into Castiel’s phone, then holds the phone up at an angle to take a photo of himself for the contact picture. “Hmmm,” he says, pursing his lips slightly before snapping another photo. “Ah, there we go.”

Castiel takes his phone back, smiling at the picture while Dean goes back to the mess left behind by a customer that microwaved his Hot Pocket _way_ too long. His phone vibrates in his pocket and he pulls it out, grinning when he sees the text inside.

 **UNKNOWN - 11/5 - 4:38pm:** You have a gorgeous mouth, Dean.

“You bet your ass I do.”

  
  


 

*

**(Friday, November 6th)**

  
  


 

 

 **CAS - 11/6 - 1:32pm:** Crowley and Gavin are screaming at each other again.

 **DEAN - 11/6 - 1:41pm:** What did Gavin do now?

 **CAS - 11/6 - 1:44pm:** He brought a one night stand from Springfield here last night.

 **CAS - 11/6 - 1:45pm:** Apparently she stole some things, not sure what.

 **DEAN - 11/6 - 1:52pm:** HA.

 **CAS - 11/6 - 1:56pm:** I’m meeting with a realtor at three to see some houses.

 **DEAN - 11/6 - 2:02pm:** Woah, realtor? What happened to renting?

 **CAS - 11/6 - 2:04pm:** I didn’t like any of the nearby rentals, and I want to live in this general area.

 **DEAN - 11/6 - 2:06pm:** So you’re just going to BUY a house?

 **CAS - 11/6 - 2:07pm:** Evidently.

 **DEAN - 11/6 - 2:09pm:** What if you change your mind about living here?

 **CAS - 11/6 - 2:13pm:** I’ll sell it? Keep it as a summer home?

 **DEAN - 11/6 - 2:17pm:** I keep forgetting you’re rich or some shit.

 **CAS - 11/6 - 2:20pm:** Compared to the rest of my family, I’m a pauper.

 **DEAN - 11/6 - 2:23pm:** Shit, did I hook up with the wrong Novak?

 **CAS - 11/6 - 2:30pm:** I am the superior Novak. As far as you know.

 **DEAN - 11/6 - 2:32pm:** Bet you’re the hottest, too.

 **CAS - 11/6 - 2:33pm:** Flattery will get you everywhere.

 **DEAN - 11/6 - 2:35pm:** Like in your pants?

 **CAS - 11/6 - 2:38pm:** No. But only because I have to go to my appointment.

 **DEAN - 11/6 - 2:40pm:** Talk to you soon, Cas.

  
  


 

*

  
  


 

Now that Dean is driving to and from work every day, there are no cats waiting to escort him home at the end of the day anymore, but today there _is_ an attractive man in a trench coat, looking suave as fuck under the glow of the lone street light..

“Heyyy, you waiting for little ol’ me?” Dean says.

“I am. I wanted to show you the house I want.”

“Woah, you found something already?”

Castiel nods. “Fair price, great space to the side of the house for a garden, close to the river, allows cats, isolated enough for me to feel like I have privacy, but not so much that I’ll feel all alone. It’s…” Castiel sighs. “It’s _perfect_.”

“You thinking about getting a cat?”

“No, why?”

“You mentioned it allows cats.” The streetlight is bright enough for Dean to catch the brief look of panic that flits across Castiel’s face, but he doesn’t get _why_ it’s there.

“D-did I? Well, we should get going,” Castiel says, gesturing to the Impala.

Weird.

Castiel shows Dean the house he wants, about three miles from Dean’s place, closer to Hazelnut Valley. When they get there it’s too dark to see beyond what’s lit by Dean’s headlights, and Castiel laughs softly.

“Right. No streetlights out here. I keep forgetting that part. Maybe you can see it after your shift at the inn on Saturday?”

“Sounds good to me. So… now what?”

“I’m up for anything.”

“Wanna go back to my place and snuggle?”

“You have so many good ideas, Dean.”

  
  


*

  
  


They’ve just finished a late dinner and are sitting on the couch when Dean suddenly realizes what Castiel was talking about in the parking lot earlier. He looks at Castiel next to him, grinning wide. Castiel is engrossed in the episode of Iron Chef America playing on Netflix, and it takes him a moment to notice Dean looking at him.

“Something on your mind?” Castiel says.

Dean’s grin grows, so much it actually hurts a little. “You meant _my_ cats.”

“Your cats?”

“Back at the store, you were talking about your new place taking cats…” Castiel’s eyes widen. Bingo. “You meant _my_ cats.”

“I-I’m sure I don’t know _what_ you’re talking about,” Castiel says, turning back toward the laptop on the coffee table.

Dean just keeps right on grinning until Castiel groans and turns to face him again.

“ _Fine,_ I was referring to your cats. It just slipped out, I wasn’t saying that I expected… anything. At all. I wasn’t… this doesn’t…” Castiel sighs, burying his face in his hands. Poor guy.

“It’s okay if you’re having semi-serious thoughts about me, you know.”

Castiel looks at him from between his fingers, and Dean realizes they’re just barely rimmed with tears. Well _shit,_ Dean sure picked the wrong thing to tease him about.

“It is?” Castiel says, voice nervous. Fuck, he’s honestly worried about scaring Dean away or some shit.

It’s okay, Dean can fix this. “Makes me less concerned about this thing where I’m falling in love with you,” he says, aiming for casual and probably missing by a mile. On the inside he’s screaming that he can’t believe he just fucking said that out loud.

“You _are_?”

“I mean… this is still pretty new, and there’s a lot to learn about each other, and I’m not even sure if we’re _boyfriends,_ but… there are definitely some… love-type feelings happening on my end.”

“Well…” Castiel says slowly, rubbing at his eyes. “There are some love-type feelings on my end too.”

“Hug it out?” Dean says, standing and holding his arms open.

Castiel stands, then pauses as he’s about to move forward. “Did you say ‘hug it out’, or ‘ _fuck_ it out’?”

Dean smirks. “Does it matter?”

Castiel steps into Dean’s arms. “Not in the slightest.”

  
  


 

*

  
  


 

They fall into Dean’s bed together, and if Dean was maybe expecting tender lovemaking, that’s not what he gets. Castiel’s kisses are hungry, forceful as he works Dean open with firm, impatient fingers. When Dean starts mumbling that he’s ready in between kisses, Castiel pulls his fingers away.

“Naked and panting is a wonderful look for you, Dean.”

“I fucking bet,” Dean says, ripping open a condom wrapper.

Castiel gets his cock covered and slicked, and Dean’s heart beats a little faster as he gets manhandled onto his hands and knees.

Fuck, Dean’s more than ready. “Gonna make me feel it, Cas?”

“Nothing would make me happier.” Castiel pushes, pushes, and then they’re letting out twin moans as he makes his way inside.

“That’s it,” Dean groans as Castiel pulls all the way out and thrusts back in. “That’s _it_.”

He can feel Castiel’s thumbs pressed into the meat of his ass, holding him open slightly, can feel Castiel warm and thick inside of him. Castiel drives into him, and if his intent is to destroy Dean’s higher brain functions, it’s working. Dean is crying out and cursing with every slap of their bodies, drunk on sensation and still craving more. Castiel lets out a growl of frustration and pulls out, rolling Dean onto his back.

“Miss my pretty face?” Dean says, surprised at how raw his voice sounds.

“Yes,” Castiel says, looping his arms under Dean’s legs before leaning forward to kiss him. Dean’s body’s getting stretched in a way it never gets stretched, and he’s going to be feeling it tomorrow for sure. It’s worth it, though, when Castiel guides his cock back to where Dean’s open and waiting, and Dean feels a pretty awesome pressure on his prostate.

“Ah fuck, Cas, that’s good.”

“Yeah?” Castiel mutters, still moving in and out of Dean at a steady pace.

“ _Hell yeah_.” Dean has one arm around Castiel’s neck, and the other he moves lower so he can take himself in hand, stroking his cock in time with Castiel’s rhythm. He pulls Castiel down into a kiss, shuddering with how surrounded he feels, Castiel’s tongue in his mouth, dick deep inside him.

“ _Dean,_ ” Castiel moans between kisses. Dean loves the way Castiel says his name, there’s something almost reverent in his tone. He’s never been big on eye contact during sex, but when Castiel breaks their kiss to look down at him, Dean’s powerless to do anything but stare back into those gorgeous blue eyes, hands moving to frame Castiel’s face.

“I’m so glad I met you, Cas,” Dean blurts out.

Castiel’s jaw drops open slightly, and then he’s letting out a high, desperate moan and losing his hold on Dean’s legs as he comes. He pants, looking sort of startled as his orgasm winds down.

“You’ve got some weird kinks, man,” Dean says, feeling some degree of smugness.

Castiel pulls himself out, dipping his head to bite Dean’s nipple in retaliation. His hand moves to where Dean is still hard and aching.

“Next time, I’ll tell you how much I like your coat, that should really get your motor going,” Dean says.

Castiel glares and starts jacking Dean fast and hard.

Dean’s toes are digging into the bed, he’s getting close. “How hard would you come if I told you I like your—”

Castiel bites down on Dean’s neck, in the soft, tender spot between neck and shoulder that Dean used to love getting hickeys on. He bites hard, and the shock of sharp, _exquisite_ pain sends Dean tumbling into his orgasm, teasing words falling way to gasps as Castiel wrings every last drop of pleasure out of him.

“Aren’t you going to finish your sentence?” Castiel says, thumbing at Dean’s nipple and sending tingles through his suddenly sensitive body.

“ _Dick,_ ” Dean groans, covering his eyes with his arm.

 


	24. (Monday, November 9th)

**CAS - 11/9 - 3:14pm:** I’m a homeowner.

 **DEAN - 11/9 - 3:18pm:** Well fuck congrats man.

 **DEAN - 11/9 - 3:19pm:** When do you move in?

 **DEAN - 11/9 - 3:19pm:** Gotta christen the new place!

 **CAS - 11/9 - 3:22pm:** Like a boat christening?

 **DEAN - 11/9 - 3:25pm:** Like I need to fuck you in every room of your new place.

 **CAS - 11/9 - 3:30pm:** That is a very good plan

 **CAS - 11/9 - 3:31pm:** Escrow is set to close in nine days if everything goes smoothly.

 **DEAN - 11/9 - 3:33pm:** Damn, that’s fast.

 **CAS - 11/9 - 3:35pm:** I’m paying cash.

 **DEAN - 11/9 - 3:37pm:** How much fucking money do you HAVE?

 **CAS - 11/9 - 3:38pm:** A great deal less than I did yesterday. :)

 **DEAN - 11/9 - 3:47pm:** Did you tell Crowley yet?

 **CAS - 11/9 - 3:49pm:** I did.

 **DEAN - 11/9 - 3:50pm:** and?

 **CAS - 11/9 - 3:53pm:** The conversation got away from me. One minute I was letting him know I’ll be leaving…

 **CAS - 11/9 - 3:54pm:** The next I was agreeing to have dinner with him and Cain.

 **DEAN - 11/9 - 3:57pm:** WHAT THE FUCK? When?

 **CAS - 11/9 - 4:01pm:** In an hour, Cain’s closing the store early so we can head for Eugene.

 **CAS - 11/9 - 4:02pm:** Apparently I’m taking them some place called the Excelsior Inn.

 **DEAN - 11/9 - 4:07pm:** This might be a good time to mention that I’m not really into polyamory. I gave it a whirl years ago, wasn’t my thing.

 **CAS - 11/9 - 4:09pm:** It’s not a date, Dean.

 **DEAN - 11/9 - 4:11pm:** Does HE know that?

 **CAS - 11/9 - 4:13pm:** You’re rather attractive when you’re jealous.

 **DEAN - 11/9 - 4:15pm:** Shut the fuck up how would you know?

 **CAS - 11/9 - 4:16pm:** I’m watching you scowl at your phone.

Dean’s head jerks up, and he groans when he sees Castiel standing outside the glass doors. How embarrassing. Dean flips him off and stuffs his phone into his pocket.

“You suck,” Dean says when Castiel strolls into the store, looking pleased.

“Your lips had the most gorgeous pout to them while you were texting me.”

“I hate you.”

Castiel lets himself behind the front counter and into Dean’s personal space. “You needn’t be concerned, Dean, I only have eyes for you.”

“Stop fucking smirking.”

“No,” Castiel says, leaning in to kiss Dean.

“Dude. You’d better bring me leftovers,” Dean says, hands on Castiel’s hips.

“Mhmm,” Castiel mutters against Dean’s mouth.

“And no threeways with Crowley and Cain.”

“What if they propose you join?”

“I’ll think about it,” Dean says, winking.

  
  


 

*

  
  


 

Dean’s in his pajamas and in his bed, re-reading his printed copy of Castiel’s new book while his cats are all sleeping away on the empty side of the bed. He’s maybe halfway through when he realizes Castiel is in the doorway of his bedroom, smiling at him.

“Nothing sexier than a man with four cats, am I right?” Dean says.

“That appears to be the case.”

“Did you bring leftovers?”

“I’m afraid I ate my entire meal, I had no leftovers to bring.”

“The _betrayal_.”

“I hope you will find a way to forgive me,” Castiel says, kicking his shoes off.

“Some things can’t be forgiven.” Dean pulls Crocatta into his lap so Castiel has space to sit on the bed.

“I suppose I owe you an apology dinner, yes?”

“Now you’re talking! So… was it a date?”

Castiel sighs. “Apparently.”

“I _knew it_!” Dean exclaims, shoving Castiel so hard he almost falls off the bed. “I knew he had… _ideas._ ”

“They inquired about whether or not you and I are… exclusive…”

“Smarmy fuck couldn’t ask me that when I was cleaning his damn gutters on Saturday?”

“They thought I might talk you into having the four of us… uh…”

“God damn horny _fucks_.”

“I told them that multiple partners was not really my ‘scene’, then they asked if it was _your_ scene.”

“What the fuck is wrong with them?!”

Castiel shrugs. “They like to have a third, sometimes fourth person in their bedroom activities, and the man they were seeing before had called things off in favor of pursuing something less casual. The man that helps you with your deliveries.”

“GADREEL?!” Dean actually shrieks, and it’s so loud Rugaru and Okami both startle awake and run out of the room.

“I must say, I am very much enjoying the community here. Everyone is so interesting.”

“Yeah, _interesting_ is a word for it.”

Castiel smiles. “I really like it here.”

Dean puts an arm around Castiel, pulling him close enough to kiss his cheek. “You fit right in, you fuckin’ weirdo.”

  
  


*

**(Friday, November 13th)**

  
  


 

 

It’s a few days later, and there’s an unfriendly woman in Dean’s store.

“Unfriendly” is not a classification Dean would arrive at lightly, but through his many jobs over the years, Dean’s been beat over the head with the many ways a person has to show how much they don’t like Dean without saying a word. Or in this case, Dean’s store.

Dean doesn’t get a lot of people looking like her in the store. He gets rich and snooty people passing through, sure, but they’re usually in their vacation cardigans or what the fuck ever wealthy people wear. This woman’s in a grey pantsuit, with black heels that are as long as they are terrifying. Her hair is pulled back in a bun, and even her bangs seem to be somehow disapproving of their surroundings. Her lip is turned up ever so slightly in disgust, as though the store is filthy. Which… fuck her. This store is clean. People sometimes assume a store out in the boonies is going to be full of dust bunnies and stains, but John kept a clean store, and so does Dean, thanks.

He can tell just by looking at her that this is going to be an unpleasant conversation. He hopes this isn’t another asshole looking to buy the property from Dean for some insultingly low figure so they can build a gas station or some shit.

“Can I help you?” Dean says, plastering on his biggest, fakest smile.

The woman looks at him, almost surprised to realize there’s someone in the store with her. “I’m looking for someone. He resides somewhere in the area, and I thought perhaps given the limited number of businesses out here…”

Oh, Dean has a bad, bad feeling about this. “Uh… I mean I get a lot of customers, but the heart of this area is really Hazelnut Valley.”

The woman nods solemnly. “Then, that will be my next stop, should you prove unhelpful.”

Wow, that’s rude. “Uh, can you describe him?”

The woman comes closer, heels clicking ominously on the floor. She thumbs through her phone and holds it out, and Dean already knows what he’s going to see, but he looks anyway.

It’s a photo of Castiel.

  
  


 


	25. (Still Monday, November 9th)

Dean supposes if this woman has tracked Castiel down all the way out here, there’s probably no point in lying. Better he confirm it than have her go running around town bothering people, right?

“Yeah, I know Castiel,” Dean says.

“Wonderful!” The woman smiles, with all the warmth of a shark. “Could you give me his address? Or his phone number?”

“Uh… how about I call him and tell him you’re here?” Dean says. The woman’s smile disappears slightly, but she nods. “Can I get your name?” She doesn’t answer, so Dean shrugs and takes a photo of her with his phone, ignoring her scowl. She continues to glare as he calls Castiel, so Dean turns and faces away from her.

“Hello, Dean,” Castiel sounds pleased. Shame Dean’s about to ruin that.

“Uh… there’s a woman here looking for you.”

“What? What’s her name?”

“She’s being _coy_ about giving it, but I took a picture,” Dean says, sending the picture Castiel’s way. He knows when Castiel has received the picture because suddenly there’s a stream of loud, angry curses being shouted into Dean’s ear, and then the line goes dead.

That was… new.

Dean stares at his phone, slightly slack-jawed as his brain works to process what just happened. Castiel rarely swears, and he _never_ yells in anger.

“Well?” the woman that Dean’s got to assume is Castiel’s mother says impatiently.

“He… hung up on me…” Dean says slowly, looking down at his phone. He’s about to turn around and face her when he glances out the window and notices Castiel storming across the highway in a huff. Even his trench coat seems agitated as it flaps behind him. “Uh… he’s on his way,” Dean says, turning back around.

The woman arches an eyebrow, and then Castiel is bursting into the store, looking a strange mix of terrified and _livid_.

“What are you _doing here_?” he hisses.

“I think this has gone on long enough, Castiel,” the woman says shortly. “You ran away from home like an adolescent, dropped off the grid… do you _know_ how hard it was to find you?”

“That was the _point,_ Mother,” Castiel snaps. Mother. Bingo.

“It’s been _weeks,_ Castiel, surely you’ve worked this tantrum out of your system.”

“You think this is a tantrum? Didn’t you read the—”

“I read the _e-mail_ you sent, yes. You came off like a petulant child, wanting things done your way and then storming off to your bedroom when you couldn’t.”

Dean really, _really_ wants to intervene, but it’s so not his place.

“It wasn’t a tantrum. It was a bone-deep… _soul-_ deep dissatisfaction with my entire life. My apartment, my clothes, my job... the friends and lovers _chosen_ for me, all of it. I know everyone thinks I quit because Father forced me to fire poor Joshua, but that wasn’t it. It wasn’t firing a man who gave thirty good years to the company, it wasn’t living three doors down from my horrible ex-boyfriend, it wasn’t Father dressing me down at Sunday dinner for my _attitude_ , it wasn’t working twelve weekends in a row. It was _everything,_ Mother. I left because I was done, and I’m still done with my life in Los Angeles.” Castiel’s voice is angry and sad, but firm.

Castiel’s mother sighs, rolling her eyes. It’s sickening. How can a mother hear that pain in her child’s voice and react that way?

“Castiel… surely you’ve eaten through your savings by now. If not, you must be close. Come back, we can get you back in your office, and you’ll see that—”

“I don’t want my old job back, _or_ your money.”

“You’d rather be _poor_ than work at the company, is that it?”

“I’m not poor, but yes. That’s exactly it.”

“Castiel, you are… disappointing me,” she says slowly. From the way Castiel flinches, Dean can tell it’s a loaded statement.

It’s obviously some careful series of words aimed at bending Castiel to her will, probably something drilled into Castiel since birth; don’t let Mommy and Daddy down. He’d said it himself, really. “ _We were raised to be obedient, and so we were._ ” Castiel has made it clear how a fear of disappointing his parents steered his entire life. Castiel also made it clear that he was afraid they still had a hold on him. It was why he never told anyone where he was going.

Dean wonders if he’s about to watch his boyfriend walk out of his life.

“That’s too bad,” Castiel says, and if Dean’s surprised, it’s nothing compared to the shock written all over Castiel’s mother’s face.

“Excuse me?”

“I said, that’s too bad. I’m sorry you came all this way for nothing, Mother, but at present I have nothing to offer you but disappointment. And for the first time in my life… I’m okay with that.” There’s a spark of defiance in Castiel’s eyes that Dean wants to photograph and set as the wallpaper on his phone.

“You can’t—”

“I _can_ , though. I have my own money, my own life, and I don’t need you, or your approval.”

“When your father hears of this, he’ll be—”

“Disappointed? Yes, he often is, Mother.”

The woman is _furious_ _._ “I want to make this clear, Castiel. If you do not return with me… that’s it. We will cut you off from the family permanently. If you run out of money, or get homesick, or find that a life in the _sticks_ brings you no pride, we will not take you back. I will forget you, Castiel, your father and I will _forget you,_ and be the parents of _five_ productive adults.” Each word is cold, venomous, and it really puts Dean’s long-ago conversation with his father about his breakup with Bela into perspective.

No wonder Castiel was so afraid of disappointing his parents. Dean can’t imagine what it would have been like hearing his father regard him so coldly. Castiel seems fine, though. He seems less angry and sad than he did at the start of the conversation, even.

“I’m not going back to Los Angeles,” Castiel says.

“Just like that. You’re going to walk away from everything you’ve built.”

“I already have, Mother. And I’ve built _nothing_ in LA.”

“Castiel. This is your last chance.”

“Just go, Mother.”

Castiel’s mother shakes her head in disgust and walks out of the store.

The sad thing is, Dean believes her. He believes she might never acknowledge her son again, all because he chose to stop living in the unhappy life she’d picked out for him.

Castiel watches her go, shoulders slumping slightly at the sound of a car pulling onto the highway.

“Are you alright, Cas?” Dean says, coming from behind the counter.

“No,” Castiel says, still staring at the doors, “but I’d be less alright if I’d done what she wanted.”

  
  


*

  
  


Dean closes the store early, and Castiel sits in Dean’s chair behind the counter, face buried in his arms while Dean bustles about the store to burn through his closing routine. Every so often Castiel will let out a sniffle, and Dean’s heart breaks a little more. Eventually, though, Dean finishes with everything, and he approaches the counter cautiously.

“Cas?” Dean says tentatively. Castiel lifts his head. He’s not crying, but he definitely was at some point while Dean was closing. “You ready to get out of here?” Castiel nods and follows Dean out of the store.

“Where do you want to go?” Dean says, once they’re strapped into the Impala.

“I have absolutely no idea,” Castiel says, grimacing.

“Well… I could take you to the inn, or my place, or we could go to The Roadhouse…”

“Maybe you could just… drive?”

Dean nods, starting up the car. “I can do that.”

  
  


*

  
  


Dean drives. Past the road to his house, past Carver Edlund Park, past the ranger station. He hasn’t driven up this way in years. They pass miles and miles of trees, mountains, and trailheads before Castiel finally speaks.

“I’m not going to miss her. Or my father. I don’t quite care that apparently my parents are willing to disown me. I’m grown, it doesn’t affect me.”

“But?”

“But… this was the thing I feared all my life, and it _happened_.”

“I guess you have nothing left to fear then, right?”

“Perhaps. I am... relieved... These past several weeks, this fear has lingered in my mind. That Mother or Father would somehow show up, and demand I abandon whatever life I’d made here to return to the one they chose, and that I would go, because that’s how it’s always been. But it happened, and I didn’t go. I didn’t even want to go. The thought of leaving you, of leaving this beautiful area, of giving up writing, and _ever_ stepping foot in my old office again… I don’t even know why I was so worried. I truly am relieved to have it over, to have that worry gone.”

“Then why do you look so damn sad?”

“My parents don’t love me. Maybe they never did. It’s a hard pill to swallow.”

Dean would give anything to be able to say “maybe they love you in their own way”, but he can’t, because he has no idea if that’s true.

Instead, he says “Well, I love you, if that soothes the sting at all.”

Castiel reaches out, placing one hand over Dean’s on the steering wheel. “It does, Dean. It really, and truly does.”

 


	26. Epilogue (Saturday, May 7th 2016)

“Crocatta looks so sad… are you sure I can’t let her out just for a while?”

“ _No,_ Dean. Be strong. They need more time to adjust.”

Dean casts another glance over to where Crocatta is pawing at the glass doors leading to the back porch and sighs.

“Don’t pout,” Castiel says. “This acclimation period is important. They need to understand that this is their home now, before we let them out to explore.”

“But they’re _smart,_ they know shit. I’m sure they know this is home now.”

“Regardless, let’s err on the safe side.”

As happy as Dean is now that he’s officially living with Castiel, he feels like a jerk for keeping all the cats inside when it’s so _nice_ out. Plus he can’t prove it, but he feels like they’re all still pretty sour over being stuffed into cat carriers and carted off to the vet for check-ups. Especially Crocatta. Her ear mites cleared up a few days ago, but when Dean approaches her she still runs away like he’s going to put drops in her ear.

“I think it’s sweet that you want them to be happy,” Castiel says. “I can tell how much you love them.”

“Shut up, no I don’t. I just don’t want them to kill us in our sleep.”

“Mhmm.”

“Shut _up._ ”

They haven’t been home that long. They just got back from lunch down at the deli, and the rest of Dean’s Saturday is wide open. In fact, these days Dean’s entire weekends are wide open. Sam’s back to doing his Saturday shift at the inn, and for the past few months Gadreel has been Dean’s “weekend guy”. Gadreel’s pretty okay with customers, doesn’t steal, and really that’s all Dean needs in an employee.

Gadreel is also moving into Dean’s recently vacated cabin, since it’s closer to the bulk of his many jobs, comes partly furnished, and has a pretty awesome landlord in Dean’s opinion.

Dean left some of his furniture behind, but he brought most of the things his father made with him. There’s a good mix of Castiel’s stuff and Dean’s stuff in the house already, but there are still boxes Dean needs to unpack.

His collection of Emmanuel Allen books are of course already on the shelf, including Dean’s signed copy of Don’t You Forget About Me, the eleventh book in the Sheriffs Hunting Evil series. The book is doing well, and after nearly fifteen years of no public appearances, Emmanuel Allen will be appearing at the Barnes and Noble in Eugene for a signing session on Wednesday. Dean’s really, really excited, because he’s kept this secret for _months_ now, and he’s finally going to be able to tell his friends about Castiel. That includes Sam, who got hooked on the books after Madison talked him into trying them out. Dean’s bringing them all to the signing, and he can’t wait to see their fucking faces when they realize the guy that got drunk on eggnog at Christmas and sang carols to the community center’s herd of plastic reindeer is the author of a series they’ve all read and loved.

Life is pretty awesome right now. Dean is content, and more importantly, the people he loves are content. Sam and Madison have become the kind of sickeningly cute couple that used to ruin Dean’s appetite, Charlie’s long out of her post-Gilda mourning period and starting up a weekend LARPing circle in Eugene, and the rest of Dean’s circle… well, Benny, Ash, and Jo are _always_ doing well. Crowley has finally stopped smoking, which has made him even more cranky than usual, but maybe Crowley is just happy being cranky.

Castiel’s been e-mailing with most of his siblings the past few months. Everyone but Michael had been glad to hear from him, and Dean was glad that getting unofficially disowned by his parents didn’t mean Castiel couldn’t still have a relationship with his brothers and sisters. It’s a shame Michael refused contact, but in Dean’s opinion, four out of five isn’t bad. Dean's been trying to talk Castiel into telling Hael that he's her favorite author. On Skype, so Dean can record it and post it online.

"It's YouTube  _gold,_ Cas," Dean had said. Castiel told him he'd think about it.

Castiel is working on his next book. He isn’t starting on book twelve in Sheriffs Hunting Evil just yet, instead he’s working on the companion series following Claire and Alex. Dean’s been tempted to ask to see how it’s coming, but he’d rather wait for the finished product. Some nights they sit together quietly, Castiel writing, Dean drawing or carving little wooden trinkets to sell at the general store. Dean thinks having Castiel in the room with him boosts his own creativity, but he can’t prove it.

So, Dean’s content. Not _perfect_ ; he still has a pretty glaring limit on social interaction that wasn’t present before he moved away, and he still dwells over that wasted decade of his life, but he’s doing well. Nobody’s happy all day every day, and Dean knows that whether he has to leave a gathering early, or needs to be alone for a day, or needs someone to talk to, the people he loves have him covered.

“Hey, Cas?” Dean’s still watching Crocatta. He jumps when two arms circle him from behind.

“What can I do for you?”

“You up for a trip into Springfield? I want to go grill shopping.”

Castiel makes a happy little sound, hugging Dean tight. “I am absolutely up for that. Especially if it means you’ll be grilling dinner for me tonight.”

“I was thinking we could have everyone over next weekend. Make a thing of it. Like a… party thing.”

“Everyone, like… _everyone_?”

“Yeah, you know… Sam, Maddy, Jo, Charlie, Ash, Benny, Bobby, Ellen, Cain, Crowley, Gadreel, maybe Gavin… everyone.”

“Sounds ambitious.”

“I feel ambitious.”

“And you’ll be okay?”

“It’s a big place, I can just go hide if I get uncomfortable. Maybe you can hide with me. Some place dark where we can… you know. Do stuff.”

“So long as you have a plan. I think it’s a wonderful idea.” Castiel steps away, grabbing Dean’s car keys off the coffee table. “We’re still unpacking your boxes this weekend, Dean.”

“Of course, Cas. You think I’m just planning parties to get out of unpacking? I’m _wounded._ ”

“So you’re aware,” Castiel says, handing Dean the keys, “I am perfectly willing to withhold sex as punishment until the boxes are unpacked.”

Dean smirks, leading Castiel to the door. “No you’re not.”

“No, I’m not,” Castiel agrees, smiling.

Dean’s not in any rush to unpack the rest of his boxes. He’d rather go grill shopping. Or read. Or try to earn back the love and loyalty of his many cats. They have their whole lives ahead of them to do boring unpacking, they’ll get to it eventually.

Which in Dean’s opinion, is pretty fucking awesome.

 

 

 

 

*~The End~*

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, would you look at that, you've reached the end of the story. 
> 
> I have a tumblr post for the completed story [[HERE]](http://violue.tumblr.com/post/146023602918/%EF%BE%89-%E3%83%AE-%EF%BE%89%EF%BE%9F-now-complete-title-the-complete)!
> 
> I want to thank everyone for reading, and also thank everyone that's been commenting along as they go. I know I don't respond to many comments, but that's more my own social awkwardness than a lack of appreciation, I assure you. 
> 
> Some fun facts:
> 
> 1.) Dean lives on Swift road because there's a road in my area that I was basing it on that's named Taylor road. GET IT?!
> 
> 2.) I kind of wanted to name this "Dean Goes Hazel Nuts" and then I realized that was just way too corny, and I like this title better.
> 
> 3.) Dean's cats were... _kind of_ based on my cats? I've never had a Maine Coon cat, but I do have cats that go for walks with me. One died last year (I MISS YOU LINA!!), but the other is named Farty Cat. I did NOT pick the name. My neighbor died (he fell in the river behind my house, no joke), and so Farty Cat became my cat. He wanders the woods, knows to avoid cars, goes on walks with me, brings me dead stuff...
> 
> 4.) I found a dead bird on my porch about 30 minutes ago.

**Author's Note:**

>  **(Added 11/17)** I've gotten many comments from people disappointed that there is not a scene in this story that details Dean's friends discovering who Cas actually is. I actually wrote that into the original draft(btw in the original draft Gabriel shows up, not Naomi, and he stays in town!) but I hated the scene. Hated it, like I'm getting annoyed right now just thinking about how much I disliked it. It came out annoyingly convoluted and contrived, and because of the way I approached it, I had to bend the characters to do things that didn't quite make sense just to fit the scene into the story. It sucked so much I was resenting the story in general. So I took it out and wrote an ending I was happy with, and unfortunately that ending was sans friend-reveal (and sans Gabriel, sorry man). 
> 
> At some point I will probably add to this verse, but whether it will be "that scene" that people want, or something else, I can't say. Writing is a fickle process for me. Often I can't just sit down and say "today I'm going to write a scene about _____", instead it's "what do I feel like writing today?" and until I feel like writing that scene, until I get that _tug_ that pulls me toward writing something, it's just not going to happen, because when I try to force it, I dislike and resent the results. 
> 
> I know this all sounds very dramatic but the number of comments wishing for that scene keeps growing and it's a little disheartening, I feel as though I have disappointed readers... so I thought I'd explain why exactly that scene doesn't exist in the story for anyone that happens to read this story from today onward. 
> 
> As always, I am incredibly grateful to anyone that reads my stories, and I hope you enjoyed this one, with or without Dean's friends finding out they've been playing Strip Monopoly with a famous writer.


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